Yet all in vain the sweeping tide to brave:
Driven from her course afar by the loud wind,
Then back again by breezes from behind;
Headlong she falls into the fretful surge,
While weak and broken does she now emerge.

The inmates are now filled with fear,
Destruction seeming so near;
The vessel rent in awful chasms,
Waxing weaker, weaker she seems.

* * * * *

Anon is heard great commotion,
Roaring for spoil is the lion;
The vessel's own final struggles
Are fierce, while the crew trembles.

The hurricane increasing
Over the grim sea is driving,
Drowning loud moans, burying all
In its passage dismal.

How hard their fate, O how they wept
In that sad hour of miseries heap'd;
Some sighed, others prayed fervently,
Others mad, or in despair did cry.

Affrighted they ran to and fro,
To flee from certain death and woe;