I.

Heavy the Morn, and sullenly and fierce A thunder-storm o’ergathers Haya’s crest. His rocky diadem red lightnings pierce, Leap o’er each crag, and smite the eagle’s nest; And volleying thunder rolls from East to West. Now rain in gushing torrents drowns the sky; Anon a fiery bolt on Mandal’s breast Leaves its black scar;--anon the storm from high O’er Bidasóa falls while winds like spirits cry!