Close packed with those wretches who’d ruin your Nation.”
And soon, as we stood o’er a precipice dire,
I saw far beneath me the great Lake of Fire;
Like the sea in a tempest its surface was tossed,
While it swarmed with the pale, burning ghosts of the lost.
Rock-bounded on all sides, the deep, hollow roar
Of its surges resounded while lashing the shore,
The blackness of darkness—a sulphurous cloud,
Hung over the scene like a funeral shroud.
Yet plain by the glare of the red waves at play,