And splintered rocks by lightnings rent,
Down thundering midst the waves were hurled.
I trembled, yet I would not fly;
I feared, yet loved, the awful scene;
And gazing on the sea and sky,
Spell-bound I stood the rocks between.


X.

"'Twas strange that I, a mountain boy,
A lover of green fields and flowers,--
One, who with laughing rills could toy,
And hold companionship for hours,
With leaves that whispered low at night,
Or fountains bubbling from their springs,
Or summer winds, whose downy flight,
Seemed but the sweep of angel wings:--
'Twas strange that I should love the clash
Of ocean in its maddest hour,
And joy to see the billows dash
O'er the rent cliff with fearful power.
'Twas strange,--but I was nature's own,
Unchecked, untutored; in my soul
A harp was set that gave its tone
To every touch without control.
The zephyr stirred in childhood warm,
Thoughts like itself, as soft and blest;
And the swift fingers of the storm
Woke its own echo in my breast.