The must descended from the snow
That whiten'd o'er the cliff;
The clouds were gather'd round its brow,
And solemn darkness reign'd below
The peak of Teneriffe.
For on that rocky peak and high,
Magnificent and lone,
The awful storm-king of the sky,
Beyond the reach of mortal eye,
Had rear'd his cloudy throne.
By him the raging winds unfurl'd,
Swept o'er the prostrate land;
And thence, above the affrighted world,
The flashing thunder-bolts were hurl'd
Forth from his red right hand. —
Uprising from his cave of jet,
While mists obscured his form,
With streaming locks and vesture wet,
The Spirit of the ocean met
The Spirit of the storm.
" And why so madly dost thou dare,
Proud Spirit of the sea,
To tempt the monarch of the air,
With the whirlwind's rage and the lightning's glare?
What seekest thou of me? "
" I have risen afar from my coral caves,
Where the pearls are sparkling bright,
To roam o'er the isles I have girt with my waves;
And I hurl defiance at thee and thy slaves,
And I challenge thee here to the fight! "
" Take this in return! " and the thunderbolt rush'd
From the midst of a cloud of fire;
The tempest forth from his nostrils gush'd,
And the island forest his footsteps crush'd,
In the burning of his ire.
Now fierce o'er the waters mad hurricanes boom,
And the depths of the ocean uprend;
Now the waves lash the skies with their torrents of foam,
And whirlwinds and billows in furious gloom,
Meet, mingle, and fiercely contend.
But the monarch of ocean spurns his thrall,
And evades his fierce control; —
Away in his ice-clad crystal hall,
He still reigns absolute monarch of all
That surrounds his frozen pole.
The day breaks forth, and the storm is past, —
Again are the elements free;
But many a vessel is still sinking fast,
And many a mariner rests at last,
In the bosom of the sea!
Even thus when monarchs hostilities wage,
And the war-cry fills the air,
When nations are plunder'd, and armies engage,
The peaceful and weak fall a prey to their rage,
But what place has justice there?
That whiten'd o'er the cliff;
The clouds were gather'd round its brow,
And solemn darkness reign'd below
The peak of Teneriffe.
For on that rocky peak and high,
Magnificent and lone,
The awful storm-king of the sky,
Beyond the reach of mortal eye,
Had rear'd his cloudy throne.
By him the raging winds unfurl'd,
Swept o'er the prostrate land;
And thence, above the affrighted world,
The flashing thunder-bolts were hurl'd
Forth from his red right hand. —
Uprising from his cave of jet,
While mists obscured his form,
With streaming locks and vesture wet,
The Spirit of the ocean met
The Spirit of the storm.
" And why so madly dost thou dare,
Proud Spirit of the sea,
To tempt the monarch of the air,
With the whirlwind's rage and the lightning's glare?
What seekest thou of me? "
" I have risen afar from my coral caves,
Where the pearls are sparkling bright,
To roam o'er the isles I have girt with my waves;
And I hurl defiance at thee and thy slaves,
And I challenge thee here to the fight! "
" Take this in return! " and the thunderbolt rush'd
From the midst of a cloud of fire;
The tempest forth from his nostrils gush'd,
And the island forest his footsteps crush'd,
In the burning of his ire.
Now fierce o'er the waters mad hurricanes boom,
And the depths of the ocean uprend;
Now the waves lash the skies with their torrents of foam,
And whirlwinds and billows in furious gloom,
Meet, mingle, and fiercely contend.
But the monarch of ocean spurns his thrall,
And evades his fierce control; —
Away in his ice-clad crystal hall,
He still reigns absolute monarch of all
That surrounds his frozen pole.
The day breaks forth, and the storm is past, —
Again are the elements free;
But many a vessel is still sinking fast,
And many a mariner rests at last,
In the bosom of the sea!
Even thus when monarchs hostilities wage,
And the war-cry fills the air,
When nations are plunder'd, and armies engage,
The peaceful and weak fall a prey to their rage,
But what place has justice there?