Finds footing, high the whirling gulfs above,—
Now the intrusion of this loathly shape,
With pestilence-breathing jaws that blackly gape
For indiscriminate prey, is sure a thing
To set celestial guards once more a-wing;
To fire a new St. Michael or St. George
With the bright death to cleave the monster's gorge,
And trample out the Laidly Worm's last breath
In the convulsions of reluctant death.
A crawling, craven, sneaking, snaking brute;