The storm

Slow boiling up on the horisons brim 
 
Hugh massey clouds mountainious large & grim 
 
Sluggish & slow upon the air they ride 
 
As pitch black ships oer the blue ocean glide 
 
Curling & hovering oer the gloomy south 
 
As curls the sulphur from the canons mouth 
 
More grizly in the sun the tempest comes 
 
& thro the wood wi threatnd vengance hums

Hissing more loud & loud among the trees 
 
The frighted wild wind trembles to a breeze 
 
Just turns the leaf in terryf[y]ing sighs 
 
Bows to the spirit of the storm & dies 
 
In wild pulsations beats the heart of fear 
 
At the low rumbling thunder creeping near

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