Silent he stood, on that bank. His robe of mist flew on the wind. I could behold his tears. He foresees some death among his race. Such was his appearance on Cromla before the great Maronnan fell.
Silence is near thy blue streams.
The sun is on thy fields. Lovely the cry of th hunter on Cromla. But we are in dark I-thona, surrounded by the storm. The billows lift their white heads above our rocks. Our fathers never feared.