Descending globes of hail impetuous fly:
High on the masts, with pale and livid rays,
Amid the gloom portentous meteors blaze;
Th’ ethereal dome in mournful pomp array’d
Now buried lies beneath impervious shade,
Now, flashing round intolerable light,
Redoubles all the horror of the night—
Such terror Sinai’s trembling hill o’erspread,
When Heaven’s loud trumpet sounded o’er its head:
It seemed, the wrathful angel of the wind,