When clouds began to fill the western sky,
And dim the luster of the sinking sun—
The grim prognostic of a rising gale.
Young night had spangled all the sky with stars,465
And empty sails hung languid on the masts;
When low, foreboding sighings of the wind
Spring from our landward side; the hidden shore
Resounds afar with warning mutterings;
The rising waves anticipate the storm;470
The moon is blotted out, the stars are hid,