XVI.
On! on! it came with fiery breath,
Instinct with rage and winged with death,
As downward swept, ere Time begun
His swift and varied race to run,
Through realms chaotic and sublime,
With wing of light and forehead pale,
Immortal in remorse and crime,
Thrilling the Infinite with wail,
The apostate troops from lands of light
To darkness, shame and withering blight.
On! on! it came, and in its path
The tall trees bent beneath its wrath,
And fell with hollow, crashing sound,
Torn and uprooted, to the ground.
Still nearer grew the lightning flash,
And heavier broke the thunder crash;
And as, with almost blinded gaze,
Watched Lennard the electric blaze,
He saw through rain and densest night
A thin, pale line of waving light
Speed to a lofty oak, whose head
Sunk powerless to its parent bed.