(No flower, but a boat)—­some more were hauling
The Regent by the head:—­another crew
With that same cry peculiar to their calling—­
Were heaving up the Hope:—­and as they knew
The very gods themselves oft get a mauling
In their own realms, the seamen wisely drew
The Neptune rather higher on the beach,
That he might lie beyond his billows’ reach.

And now the storm, with its despotic power,
Had all usurped the azure of the skies,
Making our daylight darker by an hour,
And some few drops—­of an unusual size—­
Few and distinct—­scarce twenty to the shower,
Fell like huge teardrops from a giant’s eyes—­
But then this sprinkle thickened in a trice
And rained much harder—­in good solid ice.

Oh for a very storm of words to show
How this fierce crash of hail came rushing o’er us! 
Handel would make the gusty organs blow
Grandly, and a rich storm in music score us:—­
But ev’n his music seemed composed and low,
When we were handled by this Hailstone Chorus;
Whilst thunder rumbled, with its awful sound,
And frozen comfits rolled along the ground—­

As big as bullets:—­Lord! how they did batter
Our crazy tiles:—­and now the lightning flashed
Alternate with the dark, until the latter
Was rarest of the two!—­the gust too dashed
So terribly, I thought the hail must shatter
Some panes,—­and so it did—­and first it smashed
The very square where I had chose my station
To watch the general illumination.

Another, and another, still came in,
And fell in jingling ruin at my feet,
Making transparent holes that let me win
Some samples of the storm:—­Oh! it was sweet
To think I had a shelter for my skin,
Culling them through these “loopholes of retreat”—­
Which in a little we began to glaze—­
Chiefly with a jacktowel and some baize!

But which, the cloud had passed o’erhead, but played
Its crooked fires in constant flashes still,
Just in our rear, as though it had arrayed
Its heavy batteries at Fairlight Mill,
So that it lit the town, and grandly made
The rugged features of the Castle Hill
Leap, like a birth, from chaos into light,
And then relapse into the gloomy night—­

As parcel of the cloud;—­the clouds themselves,
Like monstrous crags and summits everlasting,
Piled each on each in most gigantic shelves,
That Milton’s devils were engaged in blasting. 
We could e’en fancy Satan and his elves
Busy upon those crags, and ever casting
Huge fragments loose,—­and that we felt the sound
They made in falling to the startled ground.

And so the tempest scowled away,—­and soon
Timidly shining through its skirts of jet,
We saw the rim of the pacific moon,
Like a bright fish entangled in a net,
Flashing its silver sides,—­how sweet a boon
Seemed her sweet light, as though it would beget,
With that fair smile, a calm upon the seas—­
Peace in the sky—­and coolness in the breeze!