CURTIUS.
There is a multitude, in number like
The waves of the wide ocean; and as still
As are those waters, when the summer breeze
Sleeps on the moveless billow; there is awe
On every countenance; and each does stand
In gasping breathlessness, as terror chain'd
The life pulse down; or, as they deem'd, a sound
Might call down new destruction on their heads—
The sun look'd smiling from his clear blue throne,
And nature seem'd to gladden in the ray;
When suddenly a cloud came over heaven,
