SPIRIT OF THE STORM.
WILD spirit of the storm, who rid'st the blast, And in the growling thunder speak'st thy rage, Would I could soar with thee! Untamed, unfetter'd, roaming through the vast Expanse of universe from age to age, 'T is thine, thine! to be free! 'T is mine, to lie, and grovel in the dust, And wonder at thy might, And in admiring amazement lost, To tremble at the terrors of thy fearful night.
But no! with thee my spirit longs to rise, It doth not tremble. — Genius of the storm! Thou art but tameless, wild, As I would be, could I enfranchise My chain'd being, —cast off the grovelling worm — Nature's untamed storm-child, With thee the whirlwind in its might I'd ride, Revel in the howling blast, Play with the fork'd lightnings, and deride The timorous world, by thee with weary fears harass'd.
Borne on the hurricane's extended wing, And in the whirlwind sweeping over earth —Then in the billowy deep, To wake the voice of Discord, mastering The ocean's stillness, to riot giving birth In those still caves, where sleep In silent majesty is wont to reign, Would I could roam with thee! The throbbing wish bounds in my every vein, Wild spirit of the storm! like thee, I would be free.