Of fierce, insatiate hell. He tore away
The iron nerves from that strong mountain’s heart,
As though the destiny of a conqueror lay
Deep hid within it, and the hour was come
When he must march to seek it, in a last
And wild death-revel. As this passed away,
In racking throes, which might have seemed the strong
Convulsive shudder of dissolving worlds,
The earth moaned feebly, as a dying child
Will murmur faintly in its fever-dream —