Careered, grief’s energy sustaining still.
“Oh Nial, know’st thou aught?”—A tear he shed,
More speaking Silence than might volumes fill.
The old man tore his hair. His steed they led
By the rein, and held his hands in pity for his head.
XXIX.
Thus by the far-resounding shore they past,
High o’er the bosom of the heaving main,
When reached their ears upon the lulling blast
A chorus sweet that seemed to ease their pain.