The Sunset Storm


 * The summer sun has sunk to rest
 * Below the green-clad hills,
 * And through the skies, careering fast,
 * The storm-cloud rides upon the blast,
 * And now the rain distills!
 * The flash we see, the peal we hear,
 * With winds blent in their wild career,
 * Till pains the ear.
 * It is the voice of the Storm King
 * Riding upon the Lightning's wing,

Leading his bannered hosts across the darkened sky, And drenching with his floods the sterile lands and dry.


 * The wild beasts to their covers fly,
 * The night birds flee from heaven,
 * The dense black clouds that veil the sky,
 * Darkening the vast expanse on high,
 * By streaming fires are riven.
 * Again the tempest's thunder tone,
 * The sounds from forests overthrown,
 * Like trumpets blown
 * Deep in the bosom of the storm,
 * Proclaim His presence, in its form,

Who doth the sceptre of the concave hold, Who freed the winds, and the vast clouds unrolled.


 * The storms no more the skies invest,
 * The winds are heard no more;
 * Low in the chambers of the west,
 * Whence they arose, they've sunk to rest;
 * The sunset storm is o'er.
 * The clouds that were so wildly driven
 * Across the darkened brow of heaven
 * Are gone, and Even
 * Comes in her mild and sober guise,
 * Her perfumed air, her trembling skies,

And Lama, with her star-gemmed, glorious crown, From her high throne in heaven, upon the world looks down.