The monsters of the waves.
See, like a furnace boils and steams the burning flood,
’Tis filled with mortal flesh, ’tis red with mortal blood;
Devoured by raging flames, drunk by the thirsty wave,
The clouds seem palpable,—a thick and solid mass,—
They sink like stone or brass
Into their water-grave.
Thou ruler of the tomb! Dread hour of suffering,
When all the elements,—drop, Muse, thy feeble wing!—
Hell, with its fiends, and all the fiends that man e’er drew