On the rock
Young Henry stood; with palpitating heart,
And fear-struck, e’en to madness! Now he call’d,
Louder and louder, as the shrill blast blew;
But, mid the elemental strife of sounds,
No human voice gave answer! The clear moon
No longer quiver’d on the curling main,
But, mist-encircled, shed a blunted light,
Enough to shew all things that mov’d around,
Dreadful, but indistinctly! The black weeds