I love the mournful music of the wind
Among the willows on an autumn eve,
Sighing as though some gentle spirit pined,
Condemn'd the joyous scenes of earth to leave
For those dull slumbers that are said to bind
In death-unhallow'd death-the hapless fairy-kind.

I love the hoarse, far-rolling waves to hear,
Bellow their rage along the sterile shore;
I love to mark the heavens frown severe
With dense black clouds, whence rolls the thun-
der's roar'
And the fork'd lightning-God's avenging spear-
Dart on its fiery track, o'erwhelming all with fear.