University of Virginia Library

The chief and bard together went
In to the priest, with foul intent:
The old man rested on the floor,
With lip of scorn, and look demure:
His ankles were by withe entwined;
His arms were cross'd and bound behind;
His grisly beard seem'd scarce terrene—
It flow'd, like Centaur's shaggy mane,
Far o'er his girdle crimosin,
And quiver'd to his palsied chin.
A portrait of majestic scorn
Was that old heathen priest forlorn,
With eye fix'd on his galling yoke,
And leaning calmly to the rock.