Why camest thou to my presence, shadowy one?
Thy semblance is unreal as thine arms.
Can thy brown form be terrible to me,
Thou Phantom of the Circles Lodin owns?
Frail is thy shield, and weak thy vapoury cloud;
Thy bare sword like a flame across the surge;
Which shall be cleft asunder by the blast,
And scattered thou thyself without delay,
Begone thou Dismal Offspring of the skies!
Recall thy blast to take thee and begone.”