Poems (Eliza Gabriella Lewis)/Voice of the Thunder-Cloud

by Eliza Gabriella Lewis

VOICE OF THE THUNDER-CLOUD.

From my home, 'mid storms I spring,—
 Child of the summer day,—
O'er the wither'd buds I wildly fling
Dew, from the brush of my sable wing;
The birds, when I flee, leap forth and sing,
 As I rove o'er my trackless way.

Afar, o'er the sea I glide;
 The billows I unchain,
Till they lash the struggling vessel's side;
A wreck on the wave I see her ride!
Then, groaning, plunge in the foaming tide,
 Whilst I lighten with joy the main.

The Heaven's bright smile I veil,
 Each planet's sparkling gaze,—
With jealous care—'mid the sky I sail,
(By the wild winds borne, with moan and wail,)
I shadow the moon, now faint and pale,
 And my offspring—the lightning—plays.

I strike with a fiery dart,
 Ere they hear my dreaded tone,
The loved and the loving; I could not part
The bands that were woven from heart to heart;
But I knew they were free from the worlding's art,
 And 'twere worse to live alone.

Alas! alas! that I bear
 Such sorrow o'er the earth!
When I strive to lighten the thicken'd air,
And freshen the buds, with anxious care
My path is followed, and fell despair,
 Where I looked for joy and mirth.

But, tho' high my destiny,
 The chilling north-west blast
Comes sweeping o'er the ruffled sea,
The brown leaves are whirling from bush and tree,
The birds take wing and afar they flee,—
 And I feel that ray reign is past.