"'The veil is lifted, and I seem to see
A world of life and light and peace and rest.'
O if that veil would only lift for me
The mystery of life would be explained."
As they passed on through unfrequented streets,
Seeking to shun the busy, thoughtless throng,
Those other words like duty's bugle-call
Still ringing in his ears: "Let your light shine,
That men no longer grope in dark despair"--
The old sad thoughts, long checked by passing joys,
Rolling and surging, swept his troubled soul--
As pent-up waters, having burst their dams,
Sweep down the valleys and o'erwhelm the plains.

Just then an aged, angry voice cried out:
"O help! they've stolen my jewels and my gold!"
And from a wretched hovel by the way
An old man came, hated and shunned by all,
Whose life was spent in hoarding unused gold,
Grinding the poor, devouring widows' homes;
Ill fed, ill clad, from eagerness to save,
His sunken eyes glittering with rage and greed.
And when the prince enquired what troubled him:
"Trouble enough," he said, "my sons have fled
Because I would not waste in dainty fare
And rich apparel all my life has saved,
And taken all my jewels, all my gold.
Would that they both lay dead before my face!
O precious jewels! O beloved gold!"
The prince, helpless to soothe, hopeless to cure