THE RISING OF THE STORM
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he lake's dark breastIs all unrest,It heaves with a sob and a sigh.Like a tremulous bird,From its slumber stirred,The moon is a-tilt in the sky. From the silent deepThe waters sweep,But faint on the cold white stones,And the wavelets flyWith a plaintive cryO'er the old earth's bare, bleak bones. And the spray upspringsOn its ghost-white wings,And tosses a kiss at the stars;While a water-sprite,In sea-pearls dight,Hums a sea-hymn's solemn bars. Far out in the night,On the wavering sightI see a dark hull loom;And its light on high,Like a Cyclops' eye,Shines out through the mist and gloom. Now the winds well upFrom the earth's deep cup,And fall on the sea and shore,And against the pierThe waters rearAnd break with a sullen roar. Up comes the gale,And the mist-wrought veilGives way to the lightning's glare,And the cloud-drifts fall,A sombre pall,O'er water, earth, and air. The storm-king flies,His whip he plies,And bellows down the wind.The lightning rashWith blinding flashComes pricking on behind. Rise, waters, rise,And taunt the skiesWith your swift-flitting form.Sweep, wild winds, sweep,And tear the deepTo atoms in the storm. And the waters leapt,And the wild winds swept,And blew out the moon in the sky,And I laughed with glee,It was joy to meAs the storm went raging by!
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