Treasures never known to mortals
Hath my fancy hid for thee!"

He sang the spells that he would weave for her, the far journeys she
should take--

"For thy soul a river flowing
Swiftly, over golden sands,
With the singing of the steersman
Stealing into wonderlands!"

Section 2. This song was as far as Thyrsis had written, and he
paused. Corydon was sitting with her hands clasped, and a look of
enthrallment upon her face. "Oh, beautiful! beautiful!" she cried.

A thrill of pleasure went through the poet. "You like it, then?" he
said.

"Oh, I like it!" she answered. And then she gazed at him, with
wide-open eyes of amazement. "But you! You!" she exclaimed.

"Why not I?" he asked.

"How in the world did you do it? Where did you get it from?"

"It is mine," said Thyrsis, quickly.

"But I can't imagine it! I had no idea you were interested in such
things!"