Like birds that shun a wintry cloud,
And phantom visions, grim and gray,
Came mist-like from the watery shroud:
Prophetic visions of the deep,
Emblems of those within the breast,
Which, summoned from their shadowy sleep,
Ride on the storm by passion pressed!
In ghastly shapes they rose to view,
All gibbering from their crystal caves,
As if some horrid mirth they drew