The thunder-spirit calls his squadrons dark,
Far through the trackless void of scowling space,
And lightning rends the cloudy canopy,
As prophet’s vision tears aside the veil
That shadows o’er the future, and beholds
Beyond unfolded naught but dim, and wild,
And fearful mystery. Then the sullen roar
Of elemental conflict crashing fell —
A mingled din of crushing thunderbolts,
And sadly moaning winds, and heavy drops