With shatter’d sails and low-bent mast
Drives before the whirling blast
The fondering vessel---Hark! I hear
110 (Or does the eye deceive the ear?)
The thunder’s voice, the groaning air,
The billows loud roar
While they break on the shore,
The cries of the wreck’d, and their shrieks of despair.
XII.
With pleasure now I turn my sight