Came the deep murmur of its throng of men;
And as its grateful odors met thy sense,
They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen.
To a Mosquito.
Darker—still darker! the whirlwinds bear
The dust of the plains to the middle air;
And hark to the crashing, long and loud,
Of the chariot of God, in the thunder-cloud!
The Hurricane.