To ruins known, that crumble in the sun,
Shadowless, noiseless, lifeless, left of man
Unto the footing of forgotten years
And years to be forgotten; rubble and stone
Made difficult the way; but soon o'ercrost,
The dismal tract upon the level plain
Showed like a wave, black-crested, on the sea,
Horizon-high; now straight before rose up
What seemed a natural stone of antique rite,
A boulder rude; and, thither drawing close,
The Roamer heard one cry who stood erect
Beneath it, like a guardian of a gate,
And like a leveled spear his challenge was:
"What dost thou in this haunt of memory
Where I abide, alone of all my race,
Exiled from man?" The Roamer touched at heart,
Made answer, "Exile too am I;
A stranger from new lands and seas far off,
I seek the fair companions of my soul
Whom life to me denied, nor could I know
Their light and leading, nor their burden share.
I pray thee to receive me as a friend."
"A friend!" The sigh he drew echoed a woe
From long-past years beyond the reach of time,
And more the lover than the warrior showed
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THE ROAMER
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