=7@=— stormy, stormy Peterel, 
Come rest thee, bird, awhile; 
There is no storm, believe me, | 
Anigh this summer isle. 
Come, rest thy waving pinions ; 
Alight thee down by me; 
And tell me somewhat of the lore 
Thou learnest on the sea! 
Dost hear beneath the ocean 
The gathering tempest form ? 
See’st thou afar the little cloud 
That grows into the storm? 
B 
