The doomed vessel ye may spy,
With the billows o'er her dashing—
Hark (Oh God!) that fearful cry!
Seven hundred human voices
In that shriek came on the blast!
Ha! the Tempest-Fiend rejoices—
For all earthly aid is past!
White as smoke the surge is showering
O'er the cliffs that sea-ward frown,
While the greedy gulph, devouring,