’Tis Passion’s earthquake rising in its might,
To scatter thought, as gathered cloud on cloud,
It hangs around the pinnacles of mind,
Perchance deep-freighted with some glorious truth,
Which, could it melt away in genial showers,
Would bless and beautify a desert world.
As some strong column, God-erected, on
The mountain’s misty summit, the young heart
Sways to and fro between the Right and Wrong —
The first may triumph, or the last may win,