At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of Heaven,
The Tempest growls; but as it nearer comes,
And rolls its awful burden on the wind,
The Lightnings flash a larger curve, and more
The Noise astounds; till overhead a sheet
Of livid flame discloses wide, then shuts,
And opens wider; shuts and opens still
Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze.
Follows the loosen'd aggravated Roar,
Enlarging, deepening, mingling, peal on peal,
Crush'd, horrible, convulsing Heaven and Earth.
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Why, now blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark!
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.
Why, now blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark!
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.
Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.
Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.
O Cicero,
I have seen tempests when the scolding winds
Have rived the knotty oaks, and I read more
O Cicero,
I have seen tempests when the scolding winds
Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen
Th' ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam
To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds;
But never till to-night, never till now,
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks. Rage, blow,
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched read more
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks. Rage, blow,
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched our steeples, downed the cocks.
Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll,
And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole,
Yet read more
Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll,
And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole,
Yet 'tis Thy voice, my God, that bids them fly,
Thy arm directs those lightnings through the sky.
Then let the good Thy mighty name revere,
And hardened sinners Thy just vengeance fear.
A storm in a cream bowl.
- James Butler, first Duke of Ormonde,
A storm in a cream bowl.
- James Butler, first Duke of Ormonde,
A little gale will soon disperse that cloud
And blow it to the source from whence it came.
read more
A little gale will soon disperse that cloud
And blow it to the source from whence it came.
Thy very beams will dry those vapors up,
For every cloud engenders not a storm.
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
read more
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentany as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!'
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion.
It is a tempest in a tumbler of water.
[Fr., C'est une tempete dans un verre d'eau.]
It is a tempest in a tumbler of water.
[Fr., C'est une tempete dans un verre d'eau.]
