Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
America: Vols. XXV–XXIX. 1876–79.
Storm on Saugonnet
By George S. Burleigh (18211903)R
Had the sun gone up from his eastern bed
For days and days, and as round and red
The sun had gone down for days and days.
Of their own autumnal atmosphere,—
The thousand hues of the parting year
In their banners of glory mixed, fold on fold.
The lone moon rode with never a star,—
The bronzed right wheel of her noiseless car
With a broad tire girdling her throne on high.
All night we heard on the eastern shore
The steady booming and muffled roar
Of the great waves’ tramp ere the winds had come!
Of the sunrise into black ashes burned;
The torn clouds whirled, overturned and turned,
Wrung till they streamed with a torrent’s flow.
The ground-swell came, with wave upon wave,
On the red Saugonnet rocks they drave,
And scattered their foam over leagues of coast.
Of the watery Gehenna the wild waves rose,
Lashed into wrath by invisible foes,
On the crags of the headland their fury broke.
The white spray hung, but ye heard no shock,
For the liquid thunder on red Wall Rock
Crushed out all sound with its deafening blow.
Of a maniac wrath was drifted, white,
Snowed on the blast with the snowy flight
Of the screaming gulls driven out from home.
To impalpable dust; the Ridge Rock roared
To the crash of a new Niagara poured
Right up the crags with a slippery bound!
O’er the cloudy bar of the Cormorant Rocks,
The white seas hurried in huddling flocks
With the wolf-winds howling along their track.
The phantoms that hung on the skirts of the blast;
While the nearer Cliff his defiance cast;
Maddening the seas with his granite fist.
What war was waged on the crumbling crags,
How the charging billows were torn on jags
Of the Island Cliff as they backward rolled.