Seem’d o’er the waves to go!
The livid flash illum’d the clam’rous main,
While Zelma pour’d, unmark’d, her melancholy strain.
IV.
“Be still!” she cried, “loud tempest cease!
“O! spare the gallant souls:
“The thunder rolls—the winds increase—
“The Sea, like mountains, rolls!
“While, from the deck, the storm worn victims leap,
“And o’er their struggling limbs, the furious billows sweep.