And the blast through the pines is howling and growling,
As if a thousand wolves were prowling
About in the old BLACK FOREST!
Madly, sadly, the Tempest raves
Through the narrow gullies and hollow caves,
And bursts on the rocks in windy waves,
Like the billows that roar
On a gusty shore
Mourning over the mariners' graves—
Nay, more like a frantic lamentation