And glances of beauty too fond to be true—
For the Surf Sprite shrieked, and the Fairy Isle,
By the breath of the tempest was swept from our view.
IV.
Then the howling gale o'er the billows rushed,
And trampled the sea in its march of wrath;
From stooping clouds the red lightnings gushed,
And thunders moved in their blazing path.
'Twas a fearful night, but my shadowy guide
Had a voice of glee as we rode on the gale,