His glittering rage he scornfully unsheathes
And to the startled air its splendor lends.
This again, however, is worth only qualified commendation. The first six lines preserve the personification (that of a ship) sufficiently well; but, in the seventh and eighth, the author suffers the image to slide into that of a warrior unsheathing his sword. Still there is force in these concluding verses, and we begin to fancy that this is saying a very great deal for the author of “Puffer Hopkins.”
The best stanza in the poem (there are thirty-four in all) is the thirty-third.
No cloud was on the moon, yet on His brow
A deepening shadow fell, and on his knees
That shook like tempest-stricken mountain trees
His heavy head descended sad and low
Like a high city smitten by the blow
Which secret earthquakes strike and topling falls