The lofty wind is beatin at the hill’s dark breast
And in the face of heaven springs the storm.
Night wheels and stumbles like a wounded beast,
Rears up and plunges in alarm
And knocks the shaken sky from east to west.
The mountain wind is blowing his melancholy horn
And fierce upon his music flies the rain.
The clamorous wet rocks are crying, Storm!
And there the monster rages and proclaims
That he was god before all other gods were born.