Then quivering sank upon the ground;
And Lorro on his dread distress
Gazed sorrowing—mute and motionless.
The tempest with his train has fled,
And yet no moon hath lit her fire;
Nought lights the darkness, deep and dread,
Save that dim-burning Vulcan-pyre.
With its drear, wavering, ghastly light,
Still heavier than the heavy night:
Most terrible!