When the master of the scene,
From the cloud-work of serene
Asks her long deputed power—
Takes her sceptre—bids her cower—
Strips her of her ancient robe,
She, who once bestrode the globe—
Flings around his flaming path
Crescents of destructive wrath;
Tramples earth, and rolls in fire
Forth the thunders of his ire.