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

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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.
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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.

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