The cry of the world is not only "I have," but also "I give." In the first dawning light of creation, "I have" was wedded to "I give." If this bond of union were to snap, then everything would go to ruin. I don't know where that blind Minstrel has landed us at last. It seems as though these stars in the sky above us are the gazing of countless eyes we met in all forgotten ages. It seems as if, through the flowers, there came the whisper of those we have forgotten, saying Remember us. Our hearts will break if we do not sing. (_They sing._) _Did you leave behind you your love, my heart, and miss peace through all your days? And is the path you followed lost and forgotten, making your return hopeless? I go roaming listening to brooks' babble, to the rustle of leaves. And it seems to me that I shall find the way, that reaches the land of lost love beyond the evening stars._ What a strange tune is this, that comes out of the music of Spring. It seems like the tune of yellow leaves. Spring has stored up its tears in secret for us all this while. It was afraid we should not understand it, because we were so youthful. It wanted to beguile us with smiles. But we shall sleep our hearts tonight in the sadness of the other shore. Ah, the dear earth! The beautiful earth! She wants all that we have--the touch of our hands, the song of our hearts. She wants to draw out from us all that is within, hidden even from ourselves. This is her sorrow, that she finds out some things only to know that she has not found all. She loses before she attains. Ah, the dear earth! We shall never deceive you. (_They sing._) _I shall crown you with my garland, before I take leave. You ever spoke to me in all my joys and sorrows. And now, at the end of the day, my own heart will break in speech. Words came to me, but not the tune, and the song that I never sang to you remains hidden behind my tears._ Brother, did you notice that some one seemed to have passed by? The only thing you feel is this passing by. I felt the touch of the mantle of some wayfarer. We came out to capture somebody, but now we feel the longing to be captured ourselves. Ah, here comes the Minstrel. Where have you brought us? The breath of the wayfaring world touches us here,--the breath of the starry sky. We came seeking a new form of play. But now we have forgotten what play it was. We wanted to catch the Old Man. And everybody said that he was terrifying, a bodiless head, a gaping mouth, a dragon eager to swallow the moon of the youth of the world. But now we are no longer afraid. The flowers go, the leaves go, the waves in the river go, and we shall also follow them. Ah, blind Minstrel, strike your lute and sing to us. Who knows what is the hour of the night? (_The Minstrel sings._)