The Tempest The sail is torn, the rudder bursts, the waters roar,  All people yell, the pumps release a baleful wail,  The ropes yanked out of deckhands’ palms: we’ve lost the sail!  Lo! Sun in blood-shade setting, hope there is no more.    The gale in triumph howls, and on the sodden hills  That rise above the chaos of the fatal sea,  A genius of death ascended, and now he  Assails the fortress long destroyed and further kills.    Some on the deck lie dying, drowning in despair;  Some fall in neighbor’s arms and sadly say good bye;  Some pray to drive the death away, some pray to die.    One passenger sat calmly in a corner there,  And thought: Oh happy he who’s swooned amid this hell,  Or prays or knows a man to say the last farewell!    [...]

Ur. 24 grudnia 1798 r. w Zaosiu ko