"Now, begin."
And he began. He sang such a song as Nuremberg had never heard before
and hoped never to hear again. Mixed with the tune of the new song was
the miserable serenade he had sung the night before. As for the new
words that he had tried to learn, they were gone completely. His mind
was blank. So he ducked his head and took a peep at the paper, and
instead of the words,
"Morning was gleaming with roseate light,
The air was filled
With scent distilled,"--