The Squall

With a graceful swing of her broad white wing,
    Our shallop leaves the cove;
She bends her beak to the passionless cheek
Of the slumbering wave, as if to seek
    Some soft caress of love.

Out of the East, like a viewless Christ,
    The breeze comes walking the deep;
Down from the land, and over the strand,
Waving us on with invisible hand,
    In a motion calm as sleep.

Softly away, o’er the slumbering bay,
    We slip like a silent dream;
While the sun from his throne in another zone
Smiles back on the realm that but now was his own,
    With a graver, yet tenderer gleam.

But a dark shape looms! and suddenly booms 
    O’er its ridges a thunder-gun;
As if, from the deck of a corsair black,
At a shot o’er our bows, the sail falls slack,
    And we wait that his will be done.

Blotting the Isle and the sun’s warm smile
    With the shadow of his frown,
The pitiless Squall, in midnight pall,
Rises and marches, sullen and tall,
    With a hoarse shout trampling down!

As the gale careers, our broad wing veers,
    To catch it on shoulders strong;
And leaping now, with a hissing prow,
A rolling furrow of white we plough,
    And with pearl-dust sow it along.

Like a feather afloat on the storm, our boat
    Flies quivering over the bay;
Our cheeks, aflush at the headlong rush,
Catch fire from danger, and over the crush
    Are stung by the singeing spray.

And, turned once more to the darkening shore,
    From the westering sun grown pale,
The loud blasts cling to our straining wing,
And the seething waves chase after, and fling
    Their salt rain over our wale.

The waters reel below our keel,
    And the clouds reel over the sky;
The dark-green deep is aghast in the sweep
Of angry winds, that howl and leap,
    And toss the white caps high!

Then Hurricane, with the slanting rain,
    Whips down the billows’ pride;
And a powdery spray, over all the bay,
Floats and flutters, with graceful sway,
    Like the veil of a dancing bride.

Like a cannon-shot, hurled flaring hot
    Through the rent of a ‘leaguered wall,
The sun burns back, through the torn storm-rack,
And kindles to blazing the gray and black,
    Clouds, woods, and waters all.

Our path towards home, through the flashing foam, 
    Is a rainbow’s glorious fire!
The fervid glow burns round us so,
With its seven-dyed splendor above and below,
    We rejoice at the storm-king’s ire.