As he strode to the marge of the summit, and gave
    One glance on the gulf of that merciless main;
  Lo! the wave that forever devours the wave
    Casts roaringly up the charybdis again;
  And, as with the swell of the far thunder-boom,
  Rushes foamingly forth from the heart of the gloom.

  And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars,[6]
    As when fire is with water commix’d and contending,
  And the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars,
    And flood upon flood hurries on, never-ending. 
  And it never will rest, nor from travail be free,
  Like a sea that is laboring the birth of a sea.

Yet, at length, comes a lull O’er the mighty commotion, As the whirlpool sucks into black smoothness the swell Of the white-foaming breakers—­and cleaves thro’ the ocean A path that seems winding in darkness to hell.  Round and round whirl’d the waves-deeper and deeper still driven, Like a gorge thro’ the mountainous main thunder-riven!

  The youth gave his trust to his Maker!  Before
    That path through the riven abyss closed again—­
  Hark! a shriek from the crowd rang aloft from the shore,
    And, behold! he is whirl’d in the grasp of the main! 
  And o’er him the breakers mysteriously roll’d,
  And the giant-mouth closed on the swimmer so bold.

  O’er the surface grim silence lay dark; but the crowd
    Heard the wail from the deep murmur hollow and fell;
  They hearken and shudder, lamenting aloud—­
    “Gallant youth-noble heart-fare-thee-well, fare-thee-well!”
  More hollow and more wails the deep on the ear—­
  More dread and more dread grows suspense in its fear.

  If thou should’st in those waters thy diadem fling,
    And cry, “Who may find it shall win it and wear;”
  God wot, though the prize were the crown of a king—­
    A crown at such hazard were valued too dear. 
  For never shall lips of the living reveal
  What the deeps that howl yonder in terror conceal.

  Oh, many a bark, to that breast grappled fast,
    Has gone down to the fearful and fathomless grave;
  Again, crash’d together the keel and the mast,
    To be seen, toss’d aloft in the glee of the wave. 
  Like the growth of a storm, ever louder and clearer,
  Grows the roar of the gulf rising nearer and nearer.

  And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars,
    As when fire is with water commix’d and contending;
  And the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars,
    And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending;
  And as with the swell of the far thunder-boom
  Rushes roaringly forth from the heart of the gloom.

  And, lo! from the heart of that far-floating gloom,[7]
    What gleams on the darkness so swanlike and white? 
  Lo! an arm and a neck, glancing up from the tomb!—­
    They battle—­the Man’s with the Element’s might. 
  It is he—­it is he!  In his left hand, behold! 
  As a sign!—­as a joy!—­shines the goblet of gold!