Of the rude crag,—a HUMAN FORM was seen!
And now he climb’d the foam-wash’d precipice,
And now the slip’ry weeds gave way, while he
Descended to the sands: The moon rose high—
The wild blast paus’d, and the poor shipwreck’d Man
Look’d round aghast, when on the frowning steep
He marked the lonely exiles. Now he call’d
But he was feeble, and his voice was lost
Amid the din of mingling sounds that rose
From the wild scene of clamour.