For now the thunder blast is up,
And whirls the driving rain.
O, red girl of the sky-blue lake,
Look well to thy dancing bark;
The wind is loud, the wave is white,
And the breaking morn is dark;
The wind is loud, the wave is white,
Look well to thy slender oar:
The loon hath need of its wing of jet
To battle the might of the waves, that fret