As the night grew more old and unpleasant,
We saw in the distance a horn,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
To the sides of the road was outborne;
’Twas Sal’s father’s horn lanthorn there present,
The crescent distinct from the horn.
And I said—He is better than Dian;
But I wish that his light had more size,—
And the light wasn’t much for its size;
He has guess’d—that’s a thing to rely on—