His hollow voice like thunder shakes the skies,
Slowly he moves along, exulting in his might.
Vain are thy terrors, dreadful shade!
Lo! Morven’s king defies aloud
Thy utmost force.— His glaring blade
Winds through the murky cloud.
The form falls shapeless into air:
His direful shrieks the billows hear,
And stop their rapid course with fear.
The hundred rocks of Inistore reply,