All the black malice of deepest hell
Did the palm of the monster show,
With passions sore, full many more
Than human natures know.
Its pulsing wrist made the waters leap,
Where it moved through that blood-red sea;
While the caravel, like a rocking shell,
Awaited her destiny.
As a herd of frightened flying sheep
Ran the sailors, with cry and groan;