412 FOREIGN BIRDS. 



From the earth, borne aloft by the maniac gust, 

 Arose in wild whirlwinds the darkening dust. 



Now the isle shook with strange trepidation, and high 

 The sea heav'd her billowy mountains ; the sky 

 Look'd a concave of horror, what time from the shore 

 The winds up the dell wound in deep hollow roar : 

 The lightning, at distance, leap'd over the hill; 

 No more now was heard the soft roll of the rill ; 

 No more heard of warblers, — of parrots the note; 

 No more on the breeze was heard music to float: 

 For Thunder, approaching in haste from the west, 

 With his voice loud, appalling, shook many a breast. 



From the sea came the Storm-birds, with screams 

 up the dell ; 

 And rain, mix'd with hail, now in torrents down fell. 

 The Birds all sought shelter, — the Vulture his rock 

 Forsook for a place more secure from the shock : 

 The Tornado grew furious, and, lashing the trees, 

 Twisted some off their trunks, — their limbs swam on 

 the breeze. 



The din and destruction now thicken'd apace ; 

 It seem'd as though Uproar with Storm had a race ; 

 Or, rather, that Nature (maniacal joy) 

 Sought, by one crashing stroke, her own works to 



destroy. 

 The palms were uptorn, and borne far in the air; 

 The birds, on their leaves, became stunn'd with despair: 

 The rock, where the Vulture had sat, at one stroke 

 Of the lightning's hot shaft, into two at once broke: 

 6 



