By ruins old I make my way—
I tear the ivy vines,
And fill with dust and sand and dirt
The ancient sculptured lines.
IV.
I ramble on the deep, dark sea,
And toss those waves of blue;
I scare the boasting mariner
And tear the sails in two.
The clouds that hang far overhead
Are dropping to the sea,
The waves as mountains now become—
I roar out in my glee.
The captain stands with face aghast—
With terror in his eyes—
The fork-ed lightning strikes its wings
That waft it from the skies.
The thunder stops, the clouds pass by,
The waves are resting now;
The gallant ship before my breath
With magic speed doth plow.
V.
Ye frightened goodly mariners,
That angels were before—
The storm has quit, you curse again,
You’re sinners wild once more.
And when the next storm rocks the ship,
And the thunders roll and roar,
You drop upon your knees again—
Art sainted then once more.