The Funeral, XII

Yet, thought the soldiers of the Bass, As slow the midnight moments pass, Some demon horrid rites preferr’d, To rend the rock asunder,— For evermore they, shuddering, heard Deep buried sounds like thunder; While underneath the waters boil’d, As if Leviathan had coil’d His monstrous shape around the base The castellated isle to raise; While started in the unfathom’d deep The coral tenants from their sleep!