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IV.

O who can this aged wanderer be?
He seemeth a man of mysterye,
And his beard is as white as the foam of the sea.
His visage is wan, his vigour hath fled,
And he seemeth like one who hath once been dead!
Oh! his figure is gaunt, and his skin seemeth thrown
Like a mantle to cover the naked bone,
And his eyes are as lifeless as circles of stone;
And he who looks on them shivereth still,
And feeleth I ween his life blood chill;
And he is by a fearful sense oppressed,
For a slimy snake seemeth coiled in his breast.