RAISED TO ACCOUNT FOR THE LATE RETURN OF A MESSENGER. .... The sun went down in wrath; The skies foamed brass, and soon the unchained winds Burst from the howling dungeon of the north: And raised such high delirium on the main, Such angry clamour; while such boiling waves Flashed on the peevish eye of moody night, It looked as if the seas would scald the heavens. Still louder chid the winds, the enchafed surge Still answered louder; and when the sickly morn Peeped ruefully through the blotted thick-browed east To view the ruinous havoc of the dark, The stately towers of Athens seemed to stand On hollow foam tide-whipt; the ships that lay Scorning the blast within the marble arms Of the sea-chid Portumnus, danced like corks Upon the enraged deep, kicking each other; And some were dashed to fragments in this fray Against the harbour's rocky chest. The sea So roared, so madly raged, so proudly swelled, As it would thunder full into the streets, And steep the tall Cecropian battlements In foaming brine. The airy citadel, Perched like an eagle on a high-browed rock, Shook the salt water from its stubborn sides With eager quaking; the Cyclades appeared Like ducking cormorants—Such a mutiny Out-clamoured all tradition, and gained belief To ranting prodigies of heretofore. Seven days it stormed, &c. |