ese "loopholes of retreat"--
Which in a little we began to glaze--
Chiefly with a jacktowel and some baize!

But which, the cloud had passed o'erhead, but played
Its crooked fires in constant flashes still,
Just in our rear, as though it had arrayed
Its heavy batteries at Fairlight Mill,
So that it lit the town, and grandly made
The rugged features of the Castle Hill
Leap, like a birth, from chaos into light,
And then relapse into the gloomy night--

As parcel of the cloud;--the clouds themselves,
Like monstrous crags and summits everlasting,
Piled each on each in most gigantic shelves,
That Milton's devils were engaged in blasting.
We could e'en fancy Satan and his elves
Busy upon those crags, and ever casting
Huge fragments loose,--and that we _felt_ the sound
They made in falling to the startled ground.

And so the tempest scowled away,--and soon
Timidly shining through its skirts of jet,
We saw the rim of the pacific moon,
Like a bright fish entangled in a net,
Flashing its silver sides,--how sweet a boon
Seemed her sweet light, as though it would beget,
With that fair smile, a calm upon the seas--
Peace in the sky--and coolness in the breeze!

Meantime the hail had ceased:--and all the brood
Of glaziers stole abroad to count their gains;
At every window there were maids who stood
Lamenting o'er the glass's small remains,--
Or with coarse linens made the fractions good,
Stanching the wind in all the wounded panes,--
Or, holding candles to the panes, in doubt
The wind resolved--blowing the candles out.

No house was whole that had a southern front,--
No greenhouse but the same mishap befell;
_Bow_-windows and _bell_-glasses bore the brunt,--
No sex in glass was spared!--For those who dwell
On each hill-side, you might have swum a punt
In any of their parlors;--Mrs. Snell
Was slopped out of her seat,--and Mr. Hitchin
Had a _flower_-garden washed into a _Kitchen_.

But still the sea was mild, and quite disclaimed
The recent violence.--Each after each
The gentle waves a gentle murmur framed,
Tapping, like woodpeckers, the hollow beach.
Howbeit his _weather eye_ the seaman aimed
Across the calm, and hinted by his speech
A gale next morning--and when morning broke,
There was a gale--"quite equal to bespoke."

Before high water--(it were better far
To christen it not _water_ then, but _waiter_,
For then the tide is _serving at the bar_)
Rose such a swell--I never saw one greater!
Black, jagged bill