Mirth’s merry laugh at that moment fled,
And Pleasure’s fair cheek grew pale:
The living sat like the stony dead,
The rough torrent froze in its craggy bed,
And Heaven’s dew turned to hail.
The forest trees waved their heads on high,
And shrunk from the storm’s fierce stroke;
The lightning flash’d as from God’s own eye,
The thunderbolt crash’d through the startled sky,
As it split the defying oak.