While slow he trod this desolated coast,
From the cracked ground uprose a warning ghost;
Whose figure, all-confused, was dire to view,
And loose his mantle flowed, of shifting hue;
He shed a lustre round; and sadly pressed
What seemed his hand upon what seemed his breast;
Then raised his doleful voice, like wolves that roar
In famished troops round Orcas' sleepy shore,—
“Approach yon antiquated tower,” he cried,
“There bold Rinaldo, fierce Mambrino, died,” etc.