His head he seeks ’mid coral rocks to hide,
Nor e’er hath man his eye espied,
Nor could its deadly glare abide.
His eye-lids half in drowsy stupor close,
But short and troubled his repose,
As his quick heavy breathing shows.
Muscles and crabs, and all the shelly race,
In spacious banks still crowd for place
A grisly beard, around his face.
When Midgard’s worm his fetters strives to break,