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 ASHING against the mountain, Crashing along the hill ; Hurrah for the mighty storm-blast ! Man lies still: Blind with the dazzling lightning, Deaf with the thunder roar, His boast as the lord of nature Heard no more. Cowering like the tyrant Hurled from his paper throne ; The king of the whole creation Maketh moan. Batter him, winds, and beat him, Scatter his ships at sea ; We owe him a debt of arrogance, — Winds are free.