Though many years on these tall cliffs residing I recollect not such a dreadful quarrel Between the seas and water-vexing tempests As now torments my ears, and pains my eyes-- Clouds, low suspended, seem to embrace the foam Of yonder angry ocean--bursting thunders, With their pale sheets of lightning, are as busy As though they meant to cleave this mass of nature, Proving at once the world's mortality-- But am I safe on this sea-girded island, Or can these shores, thus beaten, bear the shock Of such a bold assault--? When universal ruin shall approach, Will the grand scene be more astonishing When thou, sky-pointing Saba, Shalt tremble on thy base most fearfully!-- Night comes!--I'll to my cavern in the mountain, Far from the torrent's roar and bursting billow; That cavern, where I oft have found repose Since on this barren isle, a shipwrecked stranger, I made my sole escape--Ha! what are these! A barque half buried in the spouting surge Comes rushing towards the isle, impelled by winds That scorn all motives of compassion. Hark! now she strikes the iron pointed reef Foundering; the horrid surge that breaks upon her Has sealed their doom, and hope itself forsakes them Man is too weak to combat with the power Of these mad elements, that conquer all, Ending the day light of our misery!-- Yes, yes--I'll to my haunt, for scenes like these Pain the shocked soul and damp all resolution;-- Or, shall I to the shore, while day remains, And search among the shell-incrusted coral, Lest if by some great chance or miracle Some wretch survives upon the ragged rocks, Who knowing not of human kind residing On this sequestered, unfrequented isle, Tired in contending with the angry billows And beaten by the surge the whole night through For want of such relief, may die ere morning-- Perdition! three I see upon the rocks Clinging, to keep off death, while the rude billow Swells o'er their heads, insultingly victorious: Now from the reef upborne I see them struggle, Heaven grant, successfully!--they labour on, Now headlong to the shore, now back they go Despairing to the main!--now, now they land Safe in that calm recess, a narrow bay To them the heaven from impending ruin-- So what are you?-- _First Mariner_ If thou art an inhabitant of the isle, Lend your kind aid to three half perished wretches Of threescore souls, the only three remaining-- And if thou knowest of any sheltered spot Where from these horrid blasts and water spouts We may retire to pass the long dull night: Or if thou knowest of any standing pool Or running stream, or earth-supported spring, O tell us! and, as nothing more remains, Our gratitude must be thy sole reward. _Hermit_