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Squat mumbling bodies of lost travellers,
Whom they decoying fell'd with monstrous clubs.
But underneath the floor of their black vault
Deepens a hollow murmur, far withdrawn
Within the haunted heart of the dread mountain.
It may be mutter'd wrath of slumbering fires;
It may be secret waters wandering;
But they believe it of another world;
And shuddering pour libation to the god.

Sometimes by night a mightier thunder even
Than thunder of roaring lions, like an ocean,
Bursts all the boundaries of ruinous heaven
In one wild flood of universal flame,
With sound as of upheaval of adamant;
Towering wrath of Powers immeasurable,
And roll'd war-chariots of tremendous cloud:
Sound the great mountains in their chasms and craters,
Bastions, and inviolable towers,
Rebellow; hurl abroad; mutter in gloom;