Higher his form with every wave,
They steep his breast, on each side dash
The splinter’d ice with thundering crash
A fragment strikes him—ha! he reels,
That shock in every nerve he feels,
Faster, bold raftsman, speed thy way,
The waves roar round thee for their prey,
Thy cabin totters—sinks—the flood
Rolls its mad surges where it stood:
Before thy straining sight, the hill