’Twas thus it ran:—Of strange array
An aged man, whose locks of grey,
Like hill stream, flow’d his shoulders o’er,
For three long days on that lone shore
Sat moveless as the rocks around,
Moaning in low unearthly sound;
But whence he came, or why he stay’d,
None knew, and none to ask essay’d.
At length a lad drew near and spoke,
Craving reply. The figure shook