That shot into his heart; his reason flew
Back to her throne: he rose, and wildly threw
His matted tresses over on his brow.
Another billow came, and even now
Was dashing at his feet. There was no shade
Of terror, as the serpent waters play’d
Before him, but his eye was calm as death.
Another, yet another! and the breath
Of the weird wind was with it, like a rock
Unriveted it fell—a shroud of smoke