The shouts, redoubling, rise
In thunder to the skies;
The nymphs, disordered, dart along,
Sweet powers of solitude and song,
Stunned with the horrors of discordant sound;
And all is listening, trembling round.
Torrents, far heard amid the waste of night,
That oft have led the wanderer right,
Are silent at the noise.
The mighty Ocean's more majestic voice,
Drowned in superior din, is heard no more;
The surge in silence seems to sweep the foamy shore.