Classic Poem

AN ODE .

When fiercely raves the arctic storm,
And howling winds the seas deform,
O'er shaking hills I urge my car
To rule the elemental war.
Proud Nature owns my potent sway,
And trembling bows before my throne,
While round her form the lightnings play,
I mock the feeble sufferer's groan:
'Tis mine the boundless deep to heave
In mountains to the gates of heaven,
And mine the cloud-formed gloom to weave,
Whose shades involve the polar Even.

When round the struggling vessel's keel
The ocean's maddening waves congeal,
And the dim moon, with crimsoned rays,
Upon the stiffened canvass plays,
How the blood freezes in each vein,
While they that far from home exil'd
Behold the waters of the main
In crystal mountains round them pil'd!
Yet still they hope these scenes to brave,
To tread the icy-mantled sea, —
I seal their doom, no power can save,
Or my devoted victims free!

Obedient to my dread behest,
The whirlwind's breath rends Ocean's breast,
While Ruin scorns Distraction's cry,
The frantic sufferers shriek — and die.
Lo the fond mother scales the height
Whose brow defies the tempest wild,
And there she spends the fearful night,
To hail her long expected child;
Her hoary locks float on the storm,
Fierce on her head the wild winds beat,
When from the deep her son's pale form
I toss at her convulsing feet.

While Frenzy fires her straining eye,
Her piercing accents rend the sky;
As wild she tears her silvered hair,
That falls upon her bosom bare;
Now Death smiles dimly on his prey,
As the lost maniac to her breast
Clasps the beloved insensate clay,
And plunges in the watry waste.
These are the triumphs of my reign,
And these the trophies of my power,
When riding on the wintry main
I rule Destruction's fated hour.

From the dark bosom of the cloud,
That bears my form o'er Lapland's flood,
The meteor's vivid flame I urge,
Far glittering o'er the icy surge;
Lured by its ray the native braves
The unknown horrours of the dell,
Where scowling night in gelid caves,
On darkness throned, delights to dwell.
Hear, ye fierce demons of the air,
Preserve yon savage in the wild;
For know your monarch loves to spare
The rude north's tempest-beaten child.

Where Freedom cheers her western clime,
From Andes' brow that towers sublime,
I hurl the whelming wreaths of snow
To chasmed vales that groan below.
Down his dark rocks the vapours glide,
That mingling seem a surging deep,
While o'er the troubled airial tide,
On sable wings I proudly sweep;
The dryads of the distant wood
Awake their wildest screams of woe,
As swift I tear the storm-fraught cloud
That lays their waving kingdoms low.

When Cancer owns the solar ray,
And pours his fervors on the day,
That shines unhailed by Freedom's smile
On dark Ambition's Indian isle,
At Retribution's dread command,
The minister of wrath I fly,
To crush the dome with giant hand
That Guilt, triumphant, reared on high:
Unawed the son of Afric smiles,
As Death and Ruin scour the plain,
They end his long unpitied toils,
And burst his blood-encrusted chain.

Yes, the tremendous power is mine,
To shake Oppression's hated shrine;
My hand unnerves her coward soul,
While heaven's avenging thunders roll;
I guide the flame-winged lightning's course,
I bid the struggling earthquake groan,
While the tornado's fearful force
Shakes the bright Summer's tropic throne,
I rule the spirits of the deep,
I drive them to their oozy caves,
When bounding from the cloud-crowned steep,
I revel on the foaming waves.