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XIII.

And while that red and boding light advanced,
And on the angry waters glanced,

123

The doors self-moving closed again,—
For ever shutting out the raging main.
And as the light approached, Ragnar beheld
The aged wanderer of the watery plain;
And he might view
That old man's features, sickly blue,
And of a pale and deathly hue,
When the red glare
Of that mysterious lamp fell on them. And his hair
Seemed like a stream of silver on the wind,
Curling, and floating far behind.