It must be written down so that people in other places
and in other times may hear it read and sung."
So she called her clerk, who was a scholar, and bade him write the
song, word for word, as it came from Caedmon's lips. And this he did.
Such was the way in which the first true English poem was written. And
Caedmon, the poor cowherd of the abbey, was the first great poet of
England.
THE LOVER OF MEN
In the Far East there was once a prince whose name was Gautama. He
lived in a splendid palace where there was everything that could give
delight. It was the wish of his father and mother that every day of
his life should be a day of perfect happiness.
So this prince grew up to be a young man, tall and fair and graceful.
He had never gone beyond the beautiful gardens that surrounded his
father's palace. He had never seen nor heard of sorrow or sickness or
poverty. Everything that was evil or disagreeable had been carefully
kept out of his sight. He knew only of those things that give joy and
health and peace.
But one day after he had become a man, he said: "Tell me about the
great world which, you say, lies outside of these palace walls.
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