Marks he impatiently how slow they glide
O’er the unfathomed depth that lies below;
Or doth but watch the sparkles as they glow
Among the envious billows’ angry play,
That foam and toss on high the beauteous ray:
Not that the glories of the sea or sky
Absorb the thoughts that in his bosom lie,
Panting to burst from their sepulchral home
In all the ghastliness of livid gloom.
Why is his head uncovered to the air?