The Fiends of the whirlwind terrific arise,
And mingle the clouds with the white-foaming main.
All dark is the night, and all gloomy the shore,
Save when the red lightnings the ether divide,
Then follows the thunder with loud-sounding roar,
And echoes in concert the billowy tide.
But though now all is murky and shaded with gloom,
Hope, the soother, soft whispers the tempests shall cease;
Then Nature again in her beauty shall bloom,
And enamour'd embrace the fair sweet-smiling Peace;