And he himself was tall and thin,
With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, 60
And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,
No tuft on cheek, nor beard on chin,
But lips where smiles went out and in—
There was no guessing his kith and kin!
And nobody could enough admire 65
The tall man and his quaint attire.
Quoth one: ‘It’s as my great grandsire,
Starting up at the Trump of Doom’s tone,