And with the crash of thunder the billows broke below.
Ah, yes, beneath the fierce levant, the wild white horses pranced;
With rising rage the billows against those walls advanced;
But stormier were the thoughts that filled his heart with bitter pain,
As he turned his tearful eyes once more to gaze upon the main.
"O hostile sea," these words at last burst from his heaving breast;
"I know that I return to die, but death at least is rest.
Then let me on my native shore again in freedom roam,
For here alone is shelter, for here at last is home."
And now, like furies, from the east the gale began to blow,