That, like the Simoom, scatters death
On all that yet can die!
—“Darest thou confront that fearful form
That rides the whirlwind and the storm,
In wild unholy revel!
The terrors of that blasted brow,
Archangel’s once,—though ruined now—
—Ay,—dar’st thou face The Devil?”
“I dare!” the desperate youth replied,
And placed him by that Old Man’s side,