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ATLANTIS.
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Of armèd men, proud sire and princely son:Their lances poised, their arrows winged for fray,Bright-panoplied they stood, alert and strong to slay.
VIII.On tides that did the verdant headlands threat Their bounding ships rode up the whelmèd shore;For rushing winds did rushing waves abet— Those struck the mast, these at the helm did roar, Till, cast on verdant meads, the keels forbore,And eddying surges, sinking, swept the beach. Not then did kneeling crowds their gods implore;None made assay to daunten or beseech:But swift as hurtling clouds each launched his bolts on each.
IX.Then was there din that shook the crag-built land, Upstartling every harp-lulled mountain-blast;Then cavern-spirits shrieked from strand to strand,
