The other shape,

If shape it might be call'd that shape had none

Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb;

Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd,

For each seem'd either,—black it stood as night,

Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell,

And shook a dreadful dart; what seem'd his head

The likeness of a kingly crown had on.

Satan was now at hand.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book ii. Line 666.

Terrible he rode alone,

With his Yemen sword for aid;

Ornament it carried none

But the notches on the blade.

The Death Feud. An Arab War-song.

And last of all an Admiral came,

A terrible man with a terrible name,—

A name which you all know by sight very well,

But which no one can speak, and no one can spell.

Robert Southey (1774-1843): The March to Moscow. Stanza 8.