The wind he pops his breeches on,
His foam-white water breeches;
He flogs the flood with a will, and anon
How it howls, and tosses, and pitches!

The rain-gusts stream with savage might
From Heaven's black commotion;
It is as though primeval night
Would drown primeval ocean.

The sea-mew hoarsely shrieks and raves,
And to the shrouds clings faster;
In wild dismay her wings she waves,
And prophesies disaster.