THE northern blasts thy cloudy gates unfold, Thy warlike form, O Fingal, I behold; Amid the curling glooms that wrap thee round, Appear thy gleaming arms in fight renown'd; Thin as the clouds the weeping stars that lave, Thou art no more the terror of the brave. Thy pound'rous shield, in battle once so bright, Seems like the waning empress of the night; A feeble vapour is the sword you bore, Dim is the chief who walk'd in light before. Yet still thy steps are on the distant winds, And thy strong grasp the brewing tempest binds, The sun thou takest in thy dreadful ire, And quenchest in the clouds his blazing fire, The sons of little men affrighted fly, A thousand showers pour from out the sky; But when thou comest forth in calmness sweet, The gales of morning play around thy feet; The sun shines out upon the dewy meads, And through the vale the winding river speeds, The bushes shake their green heads in the breeze, The roe toward the distant desert flies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN MALINDY SINGS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE OWL CRITIC by JAMES THOMAS FIELDS IN HOSPITAL: 28. DISCHARGED by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY THE EXEQUY [ON HIS WIFE] by HENRY KING (1592-1669) ON THE DANGER OF WAR by GEORGE MEREDITH SHUT OUT by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SAINT AGNES' EVE by ALFRED TENNYSON |