Upon this wild headland, crowned meanly with indigent
⁠rushes
And withering bush and the pitiful green of the pine-
⁠trees,
The aged Meniskos, a sorrowful fisherman laid
His son who had perished. His youth the sea, motherwise,
⁠nurtured,
That sea whose wide lap took him back, who resistlessly
⁠bore him
In death, and who carefully carried the young body shore-
⁠ward.
Then mourning Meniskos went forth, and beneath the
⁠great willow
He dug him a grave, a plain stone he set for a mark on
⁠the cliff-side,
And hung overhead a coarse net he had woven of
⁠willow,—
A fisherman's wreath to be poverty's bitter memento.