Page:The town down the river; a book of poems.djvu/109



He knocked, and I beheld him at the door— A vision for the gods to verify. "What battered ancientry is this," thought I, And when, if ever, did we meet before?" But ask him as I might, I got no more For answer than a moaning and a cry: Too late to parley, but in time to die, He staggered, and lay shapeless on the floor.