Poems (Cook)/The King of the Wind

by Eliza Cook

THE KING OF THE WIND.

He burst through the ice-pillar'd gates of the north,
And away on his hurricane wings he rush'd forth;
He exulted, all free, in his might and his speed;
He mock'd at the lion, and taunted the steed.
He whistled along, through each cranny and creek;
He whirl'd o'er the mountains with hollow-toned shriek;
The arrow and eagle were laggard behind,
And alone in his flight sped the King of the Wind.

He swept o'er the earth—the tall battlements fell;
And he laugh'd, as they crumbled, with maniac yell;
The broad oak of the wood dared to wrestle again,
Till, wild in his fury, he snapp'd it in twain.
He grappled with pyramids, works of an age,
And dire records were left of his havoc and rage.
No power could brave him, no fetters could bind;
Supreme in his sway was the King of the Wind.

He career'd o'er the waters with death and despair;
He wreck'd the proud ship, and his triumph was there;
The cheeks that had blanch'd not at foeman or blade,
At the sound of his breathing turn'd pale and afraid.
He rock'd the staunch lighthouse, he shiver'd the mast;
He howl'd—the strong life-boat in fragments was cast;
And he roar'd in his glory, "Where, where will ye find
A despot so great as the King of the Wind!"