The silver chords, until a rush of sound
Came from them, solemn—terrible—profound;
And then he dash’d the instrument away
Into the waters, and the giant play
Of billows threw it back unto the shore,
A shiver’d, stringless frame—its day of music o’er!
The tide, the rolling tide! the multitude
Of the sea surges, terrible and rude,
Tossing their chalky foam along the bed
Of thundering pebbles, that are shoring dread.