The lengthy crests of monstrous waves, rain dashed into spray anew,
Raging waterspouts and bursting clouds,—all are a bloody hue;
And crash and din deafen the ear, as when in the battle’s fray
Clash countless spears and lances of raving armies without array.
But anon the drumming of the storm grows still, the seething ceases,
The sun’s golden shield, peeping from the rosy vapors, increases.
Victorious day rends the clouds and mists in flowing tatters,
Just as in flying fringe are torn the battle-worn banners.
The scattered hosts of darkness flee; silent grows the stormy scene;
Blue is the sky, blue is the sea, gold the atmosphere between.