He rose, he ran, and looking out,
He said, ye seas, be still;
What art thou, cruel storm about?
All silenced at his will.

Dost thou not know that thou art mine,
And all thy liquid stores;
Who ordered first the sun to shine
And gild thy swelling shores.

My smile is but the death of harm,
Whilst riding on the wind,
My power restrains the thunder's arm,
Which dies in chains confined.