And the low sobbing of the rising wind
Grew deeper, till in howling gusts it whirled
Dark wreaths of earthy fragments to the sky,
As though the maddened gnomes were hurling death
Against the vapory armaments of air;
And lurid flames with blue and ghastly glare
Gleamed o’er the face of Nature till it blanched,
As though the warning of the last dread trump
Had smote her guilt upon a coward heart.
The earthquake rising from his burning lair,