Melodious strains, oh! speed your flight above
On Neptune’s wings, and reach the ear of Love!
Oh! spread thy starry robe, celestial queen,
(For much thine aid she needs!) from ills to screen
Thy virgin-votaress!—Silence holds the deep,
And e’en the helmsman’s eyes are sealed by sleep:
Yet mark yon gathering clouds!—the moon is fled!—
Mark too that deathlike stillness, deep and dread!
And hark!—from yon black cloud an awful voice
Pours the wild chaunt, and bids the winds rejoice!