Age had his temples scored; but,—glancing free,
As from the imprint of a century,
XXI.
His eyes beamed youth; and such a solemn mien,
Joined with such majesty and graceful air,
Our Founder thought he ne’er before had seen
In mortal form; and at the offered chair
The stranger gently shook his brow serene,
And by the act revealed his long white hair,