EDNEE.
Didst thou not ask, what fate severe Had driv’n the hapless wand’rer here? What cruel ills his life had prest, Or woes were rankling in his breast?
MONGAZID.
Speech had we some; but ever shy And cautious, seemed he, in reply: He spoke of wandering and of loss, In war and peace, by wile and cross; Of hopes still false, and objects e’er Upon the grasp, yet never near; With much of wild and frantic lore, That spoke a bosom pain’d and sore, But ever indistinct, and still He thank’d me for my friendly will.
EDNEE. [aside]
Strange! tale most strange! ah, could it be! But he is dead!—a Hillabee!
ALHALLA.
Saw’st thou no mark upon his breast, To note the chieftainship? or crest?
MONGAZID.
Mark saw I none, and ill could test What neither word nor sign exprest; More if ye would of purpose ask, Himself shall spare my tongue the task.