“He knows enough, the mariner, who knowsWhere lurk the shelves, and where the whirlpools boil,What signs portend the storm: to subtler mindsHe leaves to scan, from what mysterious causeCharybdis rages in the Ionian wave;Whence those impetuous currents in the mainWhich neither oar nor sail can stem; and whyThe roughening deep expects the storm, as sureAs red Orion mounts the shrouded heaven.”