An old blind man up by the table's head rises carefully to stand on wobbling legs. Some good girls and boys assist this blind old gentleman to find the chair that some have run to set in a shady spot beneath a tree. Our local champion poet brings the painted harp and gives it, bowing by his knee. And so he strikes the first note on the strings. He begins to sing amid the ringing chime. This reedy thinning voice cries out the tale of great Odysseus.