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Written in the West Indies.
Lord of the Winds! I feel thee nigh!
And lo! on the wing of the heavy gales,
They darken fast, and the golden blaze Of the sun is quenched in its lurid haze; And he sends through the shade a funeral ray, A glare, that is neither night nor day; A beam, that touches with hues of death, The clouds above and the earth beneath. To its covert glides the silent bird, While the hurricane's distant voice is heard,
Uplifted, among the mountains round,
He is come! he is come! do ye not behold
Darker-still darker! the whirlwinds bear
What roar is that!-'tis the rain that breaks
Haste! 'tis the stillest hour of night,