When a strange voice replies,
"It's a bargain!--but, mind, sir, THE BEST SPERMACETI!"--
Say, whose that voice?--whose that form by his side,
That old, old, gray man, with his beard long and wide,
In his coarse Palmer's weeds,
And his cockle and beads?--
And how did he come?--did he walk?--did he ride?
Oh! none could determine,--oh! none could decide,--
The fact is, I don't believe any one tried;
For while every one stared, with a dignified stride