Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol III, No 13, 1851. Various

      A reddening gloom, a magazine of fate,

      Ferment; till, by the touch ethereal rous'd,

      The dash of clouds, or irritating war

      Of fighting winds, while all is calm below,

      They furious spring. A boding silence reigns,

      Dread through the dun expanse; save the dull sound

      That from the mountain, previous to the storm,

      Rolls o'er the muttering earth, disturbs the flood,

      And shakes the forest leaf without a breath.

      Prone, to the lowest vale, the aerial tribes

      Descend: the tempest-loving raven scarce

      Dares wing the dubious dusk. In rueful gaze

      The cattle stand, and on the scowling heavens

      Cast a deploring eye; by man forsook,

      Who to the crowded cottage hies him fast,

      Or seeks the shelter of the downward cave.

      'Tis listening fear, and dumb amazement all:

      When to the startled eye the sudden glance

      Appears far south, eruptive through the cloud;

      And following slower, in explosion vast,

      The thunder raises his tremendous voice.

      At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of heaven,

      The tempest growls; but as it nearer comes,

      And rolls its awful burden on the wind,

      The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more

      The noise astounds – till overhead a sheet

      Of livid flame discloses wide, then shuts

      And opens wider, shuts and opens still

      Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze.

      Follows the loosen'd aggravated roar,

      Enlarging, deepening, mingling, peal on peal

      Crush'd horrible, convulsing heaven and earth.

      Down comes a deluge of sonorous hail,

      Or prone-descending rain. Wide-rent, the clouds

      Pour a whole flood; and yet, its flame unquench'd

      The unconquerable lightning struggles through,

      Ragged and fierce, or in red whirling balls,

      And fires the mountains with redoubled rage.

      Black from the stroke, above, the smouldering pine

      Stands a sad shatter'd trunk; and, stretch'd below,

      A lifeless group the blasted cattle lie:

      Here the soft flocks, with that same harmless look

      They wore alive, and ruminating still

      In fancy's eye; and there the frowning bull,

      And ox half-rais'd. Struck on the castled cliff,

      The venerable tower and spiry fane

      Resign their aged pride. The gloomy woods

      Start at the flash, and from their deep recess,

      Wide-flaming out, their trembling inmates shade

      Amid Caernarvon's mountains rages loud

      The repercussive roar; with mighty crush,

      Into the flashing deep, from the rude rocks

      Of Penmaenmawr heap'd hideous to the sky,

      Tumble the smitten cliffs; and Snowdon's peak,

      Dissolving, instant yields his wintry load.

      Far-seen, the heights of heathy Cheviot blaze,

      And Thulè bellows through her utmost isles.

      Guilt hears appall'd, with deeply troubled thought,

      And yet not always on the guilty head

      Descends the fated flash. Young Celadon

      And his Amelia were a matchless pair;

      With equal virtue form'd, and equal grace,

      The same, distinguish'd by their sex alone:

      Hers the mild lustre of the blooming morn,

      And his the radiance of the risen day.

      They lov'd: but such their guileless passion was,

      As in the dawn of time inform'd the heart

      Of innocence, and undissembling truth.

      'Twas friendship heighten'd by the mutual wish,

      The enchanting hope, and sympathetic glow,

      Beam'd from the mutual eye. Devoting all

      To love, each was to each a dearer self;

      Supremely happy in the awaken'd power

      Of giving joy. Alone, amid the shades,

      Still in harmonious intercourse they liv'd

      The rural day, and talk'd the flowing heart,

      Or sigh'd and look'd unutterable things.

      So pass'd their life, a clear united stream,

      By care unruffled; till, in evil hour,

      The tempest caught them on the tender walk,

      Heedless how far, and where its mazes stray'd,

      While, with each other bless'd, creative love

      Still bade eternal Eden smile around.

      Heavy with instant fate, her bosom heav'd

      Unwonted sighs, and stealing oft a look

      Of the big gloom, on Celadon her eye

      Fell tearful, wetting her disorder'd cheek.

      In vain assuring love, and confidence

      In Heaven, repress'd her fear; it grew, and shook

      Her frame near dissolution. He perceiv'd

      The unequal conflict; and, as angels look

      On dying saints, his eyes compassion shed,

      With love illumin'd high. "Fear not," he said,

      "Sweet innocence! thou stranger to offense,

      And inward storm! He who yon skies involves

      In frowns and darkness, ever smiles on thee

      With kind regard. O'er thee the secret shaft

      That wastes at midnight, or the undreaded hour

      Of noon, flies harmless; and that very voice

      Which thunders terror through the guilty heart,

      With tongues of seraphs whispers peace to thine.

      'Tis safety to be near thee sure, and thus

      To clasp perfection!" From his void embrace,

      Mysterious Heaven! that moment, to the ground,

      A blacken'd corse, was struck the beauteous maid,

      But who can paint the lover, as he stood,

      Pierc'd by severe amazement, hating life,

      Speechless, and fix'd in all the death of woe!

      So, faint resemblance, on the marble tomb

      The well-dissembled mourner stooping stands,

      Forever silent, and forever sad.

      As from the face of heaven the shatter'd clouds

      Tumultuous rove, the interminable

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