Page:Tales and Historic Scenes.pdf/184

180 His neck is clothed with thunder —and his mane Seems waving fire—the kindling of his eye Is as a meteor—ardent with disdain His glance—his gesture, fierce in majesty! Instinct with light he seems, and form'd to bear Some dread archangel through the fields of air.

But who is he, in panoply of gold, Throned on that burning charger?—bright his form, Yet in its brightness awful to behold, And girt with all the terrors of the storm! Lightning is on his helmet's crest—and fear Shrinks from the splendor of his brow severe.

And by his side two radiant warriors stand All-arm’d, and kingly in commanding grace— Oh! more than kingly, godlike!–sternly grand Their port indignant, and each dazzling face