But Harbard soon lays down his oar,
For lo! the skiff no guidance needs:
Steady it nears the mountain shore,
Urged by the stream, which upwards speeds.
Unlike all other streams this wave,
Which from the mountains take their source,
And toward the sea, their common grave,
Flow downward with unerring course.[87]
Swift gliding on the wizard brook,
They reach a drear and barren spot,