Classic Poem

2. Storm.
Heavily lies on the ocean the tempest,
And through the sombre rampart of clouds
Darts the forked lightning flash,
Sudden illuming, vanishing sudden,
Like a shaft from the brain of Kronion.
Over the heaving, desolate waters
Booms the thunder afar,
And the white glancing manes of the coursers leap up
Which the North-wind begot
On the ravishing mares of Erichthon.
The flocks of wild sea-birds flutter in terror
Like shades of the dead at the Styx,
Whom Charon repels from his night-hued skiff.

Poor little, light-hearted boat,
Dancing out yonder an evil dance!
Æolus sends thee the nimblest of comrades,
Who wildly tune up for the merriest reels.
And one pipes shrill, and one drones deep,
And a third scrapes on the dull bass viol,
And the staggering seaman stands by the helm
And fixes his constant eyes on the compass,
The tremulous soul of his vessel,
And casts up to Heaven his hands in entreaty:
" O Castor, thou horseman heroic, preserve me,
And thou, Pollux, great prince of the bruisers! "