 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
THE STORM
The patt'ring rain in torrents pour'd,
The echoing thunder loudly roar'd
And shook the vaulted sky,
The lightning flash'd with vivid glare,
And Danger mid the lurid air
Sate darkly thron'd on high.
The echoing thunder loudly roar'd
And shook the vaulted sky,
The lightning flash'd with vivid glare,
And Danger mid the lurid air
Sate darkly thron'd on high.
Secure within his humble cell,
Where Contemplation lov'd to dwell
An Hermit view'd the storm;
He mark'd the Whirlwind's eddying course
And saw with tears its wasteful force
The face of day deform.
Where Contemplation lov'd to dwell
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He mark'd the Whirlwind's eddying course
And saw with tears its wasteful force
The face of day deform.
On fiery pinions through the sky
He saw the blue-fork'd lightning fly,
And spread destruction round;
He saw the lofty tree o'erthrown
And, all its former beauty flown,
Lie with'ring on the ground.
He saw the blue-fork'd lightning fly,
And spread destruction round;
He saw the lofty tree o'erthrown
And, all its former beauty flown,
Lie with'ring on the ground.
“Thus 'tis with Man,” the Hermit cried,
“Thus tower his hopes in youthful pride,
And thus his wishes soar;
But ere he gain the wish'd for Goal
Misfortune's tempests round him roll,
He falls—to rise no more!”
“Thus tower his hopes in youthful pride,
And thus his wishes soar;
But ere he gain the wish'd for Goal
Misfortune's tempests round him roll,
He falls—to rise no more!”
The storm was past, the sky was clear'd:
Bright in the West the Sun appear'd
And pour'd his golden ray.
The flowers with sparkling rain-drops crown'd
Diffus'd unusual fragrance round
To bless the closing day.
Bright in the West the Sun appear'd
And pour'd his golden ray.
The flowers with sparkling rain-drops crown'd
Diffus'd unusual fragrance round
To bless the closing day.
“How all is chang'd,” the Hermit cries
Whilst pleasure glitters in his eyes,
“How beautiful the scene!
The fields at morn were parch'd and dry
But now beneath the evening sky
Display luxuriant green.
Whilst pleasure glitters in his eyes,
“How beautiful the scene!
The fields at morn were parch'd and dry
But now beneath the evening sky
Display luxuriant green.
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“And hence I learn, tho' Sorrow's storm
Awhile our prospects may deform
And hold its dread career,
Yet pleasure's Sun returns at last
And by the sense of dangers past
Is render'd doubly dear.”
Awhile our prospects may deform
And hold its dread career,
Yet pleasure's Sun returns at last
And by the sense of dangers past
Is render'd doubly dear.”
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |