The shouts, redoubling, rise In thunder to the skies; The nymphs, disordered, dart along, Sweet powers of solitude and song, Stunned with the horrors of discordant sound; And all is listening, trembling round. Torrents, far heard amid the waste of night, That oft have led the wanderer right, Are silent at the noise. The mighty Ocean's more majestic voice, Drowned in superior din, is heard no more; The surge in silence seems to sweep the foamy shore. II. 1. The bloody banner, streaming in the air, Seen on yon sky-mixt mountain's brow, The mingling multitudes, the madding car, Driven in confusion to the plain below, War's dreadful Lord proclaim. Bursts out, by frequent fits, the expansive flame; Snatched in tempestuous eddies, flies The surging smoke o'er all the darkened skies; The chearful face of heaven no more is seen; The bloom of morning fades to deadly pale; The bat flies transient o'er the dusky green, And Night's foul birds along the sullen twilight sail. II. 2. Involved in fire-streaked gloom, the car comes on. The rushing steeds grim Terror guides. His forehead writhed to a relentless frown, Aloft the angry Power of Battles rides. Grasped in his mighty hand, A mace, tremendous, desolates the land; The tower rolls headlong down the steep, The mountain shrinks before its wasteful sweep. Chill horror the dissolving limbs invades, Smit by the blasting lightning of his eyes; A deeper gloom invests the howling shades; Stripped is the shattered grove, and every verdure dies. II. 3. How startled Phrenzy stares, Bristling her ragged hairs! Revenge the gory fragment gnaws; See, with her griping vulture claws Imprinted deep, she rends the mangled wound! Hate whirls her torch sulphureous round. The shrieks of agony, and clang of arms, Re-echo to the hoarse alarms, Her trump terrific blows. Disparting from behind, the clouds disclose, Of kingly gesture, a gigantic form, That with his scourge sublime rules the careering storm. III. 1. Ambition, outside fair! within as foul As fiends of fiercest heart below, Who ride the hurricanes of fire, that roll Their thundering vortex o'er the realms of woe, Yon naked waste survey; Where late was heard the flute's mellifluous lay; Where late the rosy-bosomed hours, In loose array, danced lightly o'er the flowers; Where late the shepherd told his tender tale; And, wakened by the murmuring breeze of morn, The voice of chearful Labour filled the dale; And dove-eyed Plenty smiled, and waved her liberal horn. III. 2.