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Islanded Chapt. 8 The red-fox tracks the plains below, Beyond the hills the winds are whist, But in the gorge the eddying snow Gleams spectral as a moonlit mist. Is it the murmur of the waves That drench the distant rocks with spray? Nay, 'tis the voice of brother man Who comes to save the castaway. On Arnheim's return, empty handed, we went down to the shore hoping to find something edible cast up by the water. Seldom had we seen the waves leap higher than they did upon the rocks of the northern coast which