Like a sea-cloud. The elfin billows fly
Before it, in their armories enthrall’d
Of radiant and moon-breasted emerald:
And many is the mariner that sees
That lone boat in the melancholy breeze,
Waving her snowy canvass, and anon
Their stately vessel with a gallant run
Crowds by in all her glory; but the cheer
Of men is pass’d into a sudden fear,
And whisperings, and shaking of the head.—