Of the stilly-moaning surge and look inland.
110
Ul. Nought.
Ath.Look!
Ul.I see nought. ’Tis a thicker mist
Than ever in my own cloud-gathering isle
Clung to the frowning cliffs, when the warm south
Beat up the vapours from the seas at morn.
Ath. Look.
Ul.Now it brightens somewhat, or mine eye