BEFORE THE SQUALL.

THE wind is rising on the sea, White flashes dance along the deep, That moans as if uneasily It turned in an unquiet sleep.

Ridge after rocky ridge upheaves A toppling crest that falls in spray Where the tormented beach receives The buffets of the sea's wild play.

On the horizon's nearing line, Where the sky rests, a visible wall. Grey in the offing, I divine The sails that fly before the squall.