THE STORM.
The waves rise in rebellion—far away
The wreck-doomed ship is borne resistless on;
And hark! the screaming sea-mews trill their lay
Of terrible delight—its echo's moan
Dies wildly on the tempest, and the spray
Dashes around us, chilling hope to stone;
And vast and fathomless the mountain waves,
Yawning around us, marshall forth our graves.
The clouds move like the billows o'er the ocean,