In vain they call their idols, name by name.
Their garments all are wrapt in living flame,
Their quivering bodies tortured to the bone,
Their parched lips in vain assay a moan,
Their eyes still pleading with each bated breath
Not for forgiveness, but for instant death!
The circling oceans, with resounding roar,
Meet and commingle—and the scene is o'er!
