At midnight
The moon arose; and lo! the ethereal cliffs
Of Caucasus, whose icy summits shone
Among the stars like sunlight, and around
Whose caverned base the whirlpools and the waves 355
Bursting and eddying irresistibly
Rage and resound forever.—­Who shall save?—­
The boat fled on,—­the boiling torrent drove,—­
The crags closed round with black and jagged arms,
The shattered mountain overhung the sea, 360
And faster still, beyond all human speed,
Suspended on the sweep of the smooth wave,
The little boat was driven.  A cavern there
Yawned, and amid its slant and winding depths
Ingulfed the rushing sea.  The boat fled on 365
With unrelaxing speed.—­’Vision and Love!’
The Poet cried aloud, ’I have beheld
The path of thy departure.  Sleep and death
Shall not divide us long.’

The boat pursued
The windings of the cavern.  Daylight shone 370
At length upon that gloomy river’s flow;
Now, where the fiercest war among the waves
Is calm, on the unfathomable stream
The boat moved slowly.  Where the mountain, riven,
Exposed those black depths to the azure sky, 375
Ere yet the flood’s enormous volume fell
Even to the base of Caucasus, with sound
That shook the everlasting rocks, the mass
Filled with one whirlpool all that ample chasm: 
Stair above stair the eddying waters rose, 380
Circling immeasurably fast, and laved
With alternating dash the gnarled roots
Of mighty trees, that stretched their giant arms
In darkness over it.  I’ the midst was left,
Reflecting, yet distorting every cloud, 385
A pool of treacherous and tremendous calm. 
Seized by the sway of the ascending stream,
With dizzy swiftness, round, and round, and round,
Ridge after ridge the straining boat arose,
Till on the verge of the extremest curve, 390
Where, through an opening of the rocky bank,
The waters overflow, and a smooth spot
Of glassy quiet mid those battling tides
Is left, the boat paused shuddering.—­Shall it sink
Down the abyss?  Shall the reverting stress 395
Of that resistless gulf embosom it? 
Now shall it fall?—­A wandering stream of wind,
Breathed from the west, has caught the expanded sail,
And, lo! with gentle motion, between banks
Of mossy slope, and on a placid stream, 400
Beneath a woven grove it sails, and, hark! 
The ghastly torrent mingles its far roar,
With the breeze murmuring in the musical woods. 
Where the embowering trees recede, and leave
A little space of green expanse, the cove 405
Is closed by meeting banks, whose yellow flowers