Sky—Mountains—River—Winds—Lake—Lightnings! ye!

With night, and clouds, and thunder—and a Soul

To make these felt and feeling, well may be

Things that have made me watchful; the far roll

Of your departing voices, is the knoll[338]

Of what in me is sleepless,—if I rest.

But where of ye, O Tempests! is the goal?

Are ye like those within the human breast?

Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest?