Upturns the whitening surface of the deep;
In such a tempest, borne to deeds of death,
The wayward sisters scour the blasted heath.
The clouds, with ruin pregnant, now impend,
And storm, and cataracts tumultuous blend.
Deep, on her side, the reeling vessel lies:
‘Brail up the mizen quick!’ the master cries,
‘Man the clue-garnets! let the main-sheet fly!’
It rends in thousand shivering shreds on high!
The main-sail all in streaming ruins tore,