Culprit Fay, The - Part 16

Soon he gathered the balsam dew
From the sorrel leaf and the henbane bud;
Over each wound the balm he drew,
And with cobweb lint he stanched the blood.
The mild west wind was soft and low,
It cooled the heat of his burning brow,
And he felt new life in his sinews shoot,
And he drank the juice of the cal'mus root;
And now he treads the fatal shore,
As fresh and vigorous as before.
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