 | Poems (1857) |  |
297
THE PRINCE OF THE STORM.
I
I was born in a cloud of sulphureous hue—Darkness my mother, and Flame my sire;
The earth shook in terror, as forth to its view
I sprang from my throne like a monarch of fire!
My brother, bold Thunder, hurrahed as I sped!
My subjects laughed wild, till the rain from their eyes
298
Or an ocean had burst through the bounds of the skies!
I am Prince of the Storm—of the Cloud—of the Air—
I strike the firm oak that doth ages defy;
And lo! in an instant 'tis shattered and bare—
For the Lanceman of Death, the red Lightning am I!
II
Hurrah! what a whirling and rush o'er the land;Like the cannon of battle the dark mountains roar;
Whilst around, with my lances of fire in my hand,
I scatter wild havoc behind and before!—
Hurrah for the forest! with sounds like the ocean,
The boughs heave in billows and groan in the blast:
Then, silent as death, not a branch seen in motion,
They breathless look up when the tempest hath passed.
Oh, I'm Prince of the Storm—of the Air—of the Cloud,
I strike the tall rock that doth ages defy,
And lo! in an instant 'tis shivered and bowed—
For the Lanceman of Death, the red Lightning am I!
| Poems (1857) | |