Piling its dragon coils into a heap,
Far off, and yet inaudible, but dread,
The breaker rears its crested neck and head,
And now flings out in very act to leap
Its long upgathered bosom of the deep.
At once, like armed men with earthquake tread,
Waved on through breach and gap, where Captain led,
O’er rock, up beach, swift unleashed waters sweep:
Rush! Roar! Recoil! In Froth, and flake, and foam,
Back, back they fall; but clamorous of fight,
Pressed on by fresh battalions’ fiercer rage,
So scours that nomad horde without a home,
Billows, that from lone Labrador took flight,
The war-hounds of old Atlas' unequalled age.