Around their homes its sombre hue—
The fearful herald of the wrath
That blazes on the Whirlwind’s path
Ere he has tossed his banners out
Like sable draperies o’er the Dead,
And with a wild, delirious shout
Struck his deep thunder-drum of dread;
A clime where e’en the fountains fall
With tone and step funereal:
And ever through the dark, old trees