“In the long ago a curiously shaped boat would be seen at the close of a summer evening coming from Bradda towards Dalby. In the boat sat an old man with long white hair, who rowed until off Niarbyl Point; there he rested on his oars and sang this melody, which runs up and down the minor scale with the lilt of the waves. And as the thing became known, the people would come and stay on the shore to listen to his music, for it was very sweet to them; but his boat was far off, and no words could be distinguish
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