Ungrateful task! for, no asylum found,
Death yawns on every leeward shore around.—
While Albert thus, with horrid doubts dismayed,
The geometric distances surveyed,
On deck the watchful Rodmond cries aloud,
‘Secure your lives! grasp every man a shroud!’—
Roused from his trance, he mounts with eyes aghast;
When o’er the ship, in undulation vast,
A giant surge down rushes from on high,
And fore and aft dissevered ruins lie: