"It is a long story, your highness, and entertaining to no one but
myself."

"You do me injustice," said the Duke. "A long story from you is too
good to be lost. Sit down, and favour me."

A patron's wishes are not to be neglected; and somewhat unwillingly
the poet at last sat down, and told the story of his Ballad and of St.
Nicholas's Day, as it has been told here. The fountain of tears is
drier in middle age than in childhood, but he was not unmoved as he
concluded.

"Every circumstance of that evening," he said, "is as fresh in my
remembrance now as it was then, and will be till I die. It is a joy, a
triumph, and a satisfaction that will never fade. The words that
roused me from despair, that promised knowledge to my ignorance and
fame to my humble condition, have power now to make my heart beat, and
to bring hopeful tears into eyes that should have dried with age--

"GOD _willing, he will be a credit to the town._"

"GOD _willing, he will be a credit to his country._"

"_He shall have a liberal education, and will be
a great man._"

"It is as good as a poem," said the delighted Duke. "I shall tell the
company to-night that I am the most fortunate man in Germany. I have
heard your unpublished poem. By the bye, Poet, is that ballad