Downward at times I drive the waves,
Stir up the streams; to the strand I press
The flint-gray flood: the foamy wave
20 Lashes the wall. A lurid mountain
Rises on the deep; dark in its trail
Stirred up with the sea a second one comes,
And close to the coast it clashes and strikes
On the lofty hills. Loud soundeth the boat,
25 The shouting of shipmen. Unshaken abide
The stone cliffs steep through the strife of the waters,