Hangs beetling o’er the wave below,
Adown whose sheer descent the eye,
When twilight’s gloom is gath’ring nigh,
Will gaze, but vainly, to descry
The sullen waves that wash beneath,
As endless and as dark as death.
You see no tide—you scarcely hear—
You only feel a nameless fear;
The night-bird, sailing slowly by,
Dares not his melancholy cry: