Nearer now, and yet more loud,
As when voiced lightnings quiver
Through the black tornado-cloud,
And the reeling cedars shiver.
'Tis the far-off chariot roll
Of the west wind, wildly speeding
Onward to its unseen goal,
Man and his poor works unheeding.
Woe to him whose careless sail
On the tempest's track is flying !
Fathom-deep, ere daylight fail,
Shall that hapless bark be lying.
Though for hours these waters sleep
Calm as lake in sheltering mountains,
While afar the mighty deep
Rolls upbroken to its fountains,
Yet round Amroom, isle of storms,
Shadows ere the sunset hover ;
Night and cloud, their dusky forms
Mingling, soon its face will cover.