VII.
Then the boy wept aloud; 't was a fair sight yet sad To see the tears run down the sweet blooms he had: He stamped with his foot, said--"The saints know I lied Because truth that is wicked is fittest to hide: Must I utter it, mother?"
Then the boy wept aloud; 't was a fair sight yet sad To see the tears run down the sweet blooms he had: He stamped with his foot, said--"The saints know I lied Because truth that is wicked is fittest to hide: Must I utter it, mother?"