1830.] The Spirit* of the Winds. 151 



Each bears from his celestial bower 

 A trumpet-talisman of power. 

 Wake but its tone the lightest breeze ^<!tj ! 

 That ever curled the summer's seas 

 The wildest gale that sends its roar 

 Through the far Indian's forest hoar 

 From mountain-top, from violet-dell, 

 All hear the summons of the spell. 



They pause. Along the wave are borne 

 Four echos of the golden horn ; 

 From the four corners of the heaven, 

 At once four thunder-bursts are given ; 

 From the four corners of the deep, 

 Towers the white surge with wilder sweep ; 

 For firm and strong the mandate binds, 

 Sent by the " Rulers of the Winds." 



Again the four broad trumps are raised ; 

 With keener flash the lightnings blazed, 

 Then died ; and yet the glance might mark 

 Ev'n in that flash a gallant bark ; 

 A nobler never stemmed the brine 

 With chivalry from Palestine. 

 Again a flash ! her gilded side 

 Darts like a falcon through the tide. 

 Sweep on ! for many a heart is there 

 That never shook at mortal fear. 

 Sweep on ! for there, on many a cheek, 

 The tears, like dew on roses, break ; 

 And many a loved and lovely eye 

 Is fixed upon that deepening sky. 

 Sweep on, fair bark ! Oh, Heaven ! that peal 

 Had shook her strength, though ribbed with steel. 

 What was it on the sight that came ? 

 A flash a smoke a burst of flame ! 

 She burns ! up sail and shroud the blaze 

 In folds, like fiery serpents, plays. 

 What sound is heard? one dying scream, 

 Borne, like the murmurs of a dream. 

 Alike the lovely and the brave 

 See round them but a mighty grave ; 

 The minstrel and the harp are there, 

 The spear, and wielder of the spear ; 

 The royal fair, the noble knight. 

 To whom her eye was life an,d light. 

 Wealth, glory, grandeur, love, and fame- 

 What are ye, in that bed of flame? 

 The cloud is reddened with the stain- 

 Reddens, like blood, the surging main; 

 Till, mastering all, in flake and spire 

 Rolls o'er the wreck the sheet of fire. 



She's gone ! No atom floating by 

 Tells of the scene of agony. 



9 She's gone ! and with her gone the blast 



The cloud, the thunder-peal, are past ; 

 The forest's hoary crown is still 

 The cloud is on the distant hill ; 

 Bound by the rainbow's purple zone, 

 The sinking daystar's jewelled throne. 



But hark ! what more than mortal sound 

 Breathes that still heaving main around ? 



