Two craggy rocks projecting to the main,
The roaring winds' tempestuous rage restrain:
Within, the waves in softer murmurs glide,
And ships secure without their hawsers ride.
Laborious and impetuous motion.
With many a weary step, and many a groan,
Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone:
The huge round stone resulting with a bound,
Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground.
Regular and slow movement.
First march the heavy mules securely slow;
O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crags, o'er rocks they go.
Motion slow and difficult.
A needless Alexandrine ends the song,
That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.
A rock torn from the brow of a mountain.
Still gath'ring force, it smokes, and urged amain,
Whirls, leaps, and thunders down impetuous to the plain.