Through the wide air ’tis raised, and thrown again
With horrid bursting in the seas to lie,
Engulf’d. Do other havocs yet remain?
Yes, for that Heaven, displeased to see such foes,
Bids the inclement north winds rise to part
The furious combatants, and day to close
In stormy night. ’Tis order’d, and athwart
They throw themselves the miserable barks,
Lashing the waves on high with cruel wings.
As each this new unequal combat marks