Away with a shout and a shriek from the North,
  The host of the Storm King in rage hurries forth;
  With the monarch to lead them away o’er the main,
  Sweep with whistle and wild shriek the winterly train.

  O’er the sea, o’er the waves that spring tossing in wrath,
  To fly after the host in a storm of white froth,
  Till they dash in their anger on sand-hill and rock,
  Or make some ship shiver, and groan with their shock.

  Away rush the train with a howl ’mid each cloud,
  That no longer moon-silvered floats massive and proud;
  But torn by the Storm King, and rent by his crew,
  Wild and ragged scuds onward in murkiest hue.

  ’Mid the rocks, through the caves that o’er ocean’s waves scowl,
  Away speeds the King, and his followers howl
  As they toss the dark sea-weed, and tear up the sand,
  Which flies frightened in drifts at the touch of their hand.

  And away, and away, where the forest trees wave,
  Where the willow and silver birch drooping boughs lave
  In the silver-like stream, in the mossy green vale,
  That ere yet the storm cometh breaks forth in a wail.

  Now crashing ’mid beech-tops, now rending the oak,
  Then laying the larch low with mightiest stroke;
  While through the frail willow the storm spirits tear,
  And the boughs stream aloft like a maniac’s hair.

  Rejoicing and shrieking anew at each feat,
  Away o’er the moorlands, away sharp and fleet;
  By the cotter’s low hovel, the steep-cresting mill,
  To the town by the hill-slope, as yet calm and still.

  Bursting now o’er the roofs with a brain-piercing yell,
  Round the old abbey towers they mock at each bell
  As the past hour’s chimed, when they sweep off the tone,
  And away o’er the woodlands the summons has flown.

  Again with a shriek, and again with a cry,
  The King and his crew keep their revel on high;
  They bear the cold snow-drift aloft in their train,
  The sleet-darting arrow, and icy North chain.

  They bind up the streamlet, they fetter the lake,
  The huge rocky mountain they shivering break;
  They rage through the forest, they strew the sea-shore,
  While the echoing hill-sides resound with their roar.

  King Boreas passes, his revel is o’er,
  But the waves still in anger toss down by the shore;
  The trees lie half broken and torn by the gale,
  While the streamlets are fettered and bound in the vale.