Volume 3 — THE SONG OF THE SHELL. WRITTEN ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE.
Reading edition
There's a music aloft in the air As if devils were singing a song; There's a shriek like the shriek of despair. And a crash which the echoes prolong. There's a voice like the voice of the gale, When it strikes a tall ship on the sea; There's a rift like the rent of her sail. As she helplessly drifts to the lee. There's a rush like the rushing of fiends. Compelled by an horrible spell; There's a flame like the flaming of brands, Snatched in rage from the furnace of hell. There's a wreath like the foam on the wave, There's a silence unbroke by a breath; There's a thud like the clod in a grave, There are writhings, and moanings, and death!
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