O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors!
The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark Deep-founded habitation.Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.
He hears me not, but o’er the yawning deep Rides heavy; his storms are unchained. Sheathed
In ribbed steel;I dare not lift mine eyes; For he hath reared his scepter o’er the world.
Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings
To his strong bones, strides o’er the groaning rocks;
He withers all in silence, and in his hand
Unclothes the earth and freezes up frail life.
He takes his seat upon the cliffs; the mariner Cries in vain.Poor little wretch! that deal’st With storms – till heaven smiles, and the monster
Is driven yelling to his caves beneath Mount Hecla.