Or fiends abhorred their secret rites prepare?
No! ’tis thy death-winged thunder flies,
Speeds its detested course, and D’Enghien dies!
Successive phantoms fill the mind,
Dark, terrific, undefined;
Torture in a dungeon’s gloom—
A noble captive!—secret doom!
And starting, vengeful, from her sleep,
The offended Genius of the deep;
Who vows to thee relentless hate,