The Avenger

" NO joy of mine to invite the thunder down,
No pride, th' uprising whirlwind to survey,
How gradual from the north, with hideous frown
It veers in silence round the horizon grey,
And one by one sweeps the bright isles away,
Where fondly gaz'd the meNof worldly peace,
Dreaming fair weather would outlast their day
Now the big storm-drops fall, their dream must cease —
They know it well, and fain their ire would wreak
On the dread arm that wields the bolt; but He
Is out of reach, therefore on me they turn; —
On me, that am but voice, fading and weak,
A wither'd leaf inscribed with Heaven's decree,
And blown where haply some in fear may learn. "
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