"You view me with an eye of scorn!—
"When I was old you were unborn:
"When I aspired on eagle's wings
"You were among unthought of things.
"And did you hope to escape my rage,
"You toy-shop on a strolling stage!
"You insect of a puny race,
"You baggage formed of gauze and lace!
"The proudest strength you can assume,
"Shakes not one feather from my plume.
"My lot is in the æther cast,
"I sail upon the northern blast;
"Am mostly seen when whirlwinds rise,
"And love the storm that rends the skies.
"When thunders roar and lightnings flash,
"Then is my time to cut a dash:
"The clouds of hell alarm me less
"Than you, some sad old fashioned dress.
"And, if to answer some great end,
"I to this wrangling world descend,
"With force unknown, and pinions strong,
"I travel quick and stay not long.
"My spear is like a weaver's beam,
"And pointed well at each extreme;
"It flies with a tremendous force,
"And rivals lightning in its course.
"Of all things that are seen or known,
"I hate a Calm—and say, Begone
"Stagnation from this rolling ball,
"Or slumbers in this Dreadful All!
"I rise upon the drift of snow—
"In polar frosts my spirits glow—
"In the torrid zone, I temperate keep,
"And wake!—when you, Megara, sleep.
"I come from ghosts, that dreary brood,
"Whose aspect would congeal your blood!
"A people on the infernal coast,
"Who know me well, and love me most.
"I courted there, and found her kind,
"A ghostess, suited to my mind;
"Her wedding gown was flounced with soot,
"And near her nose hung snuff and smut: