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Whitman, Walt, 1819-1892

"Complete Prose Works Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Goodbye My Fancy"

It seem'd
quite dark, so heavy were the clouds. The blast blew sweepingly, the
lightning flash'd, and the rain fell in torrents. Crash after crash
of thunder seem'd to shake the solid earth. And Black Nell, she stood
now, an image of beautiful terror, with her fore feet thrust out, her
neck arch'd, and her eyes glaring balls of fear. At length, after a
dazzling and lurid glare, there came a peal--a deafening crash--as if
the great axle was rent. God of Spirits! the startled mare sprang off
like a ship in an ocean-storm! Her eyes were blinded with light;
she dashed madly down the hill, and plunge after plunge--far, far
away--swift as an arrow--dragging the hapless body of the youth
behind her!
In the low, old-fashion'd dwelling of the farmer there was a large
family group. The men and boys had gather'd under shelter at the
approach of the storm; and the subject of their talk was the return
of the long absent son. The mother spoke of him, too, and her eyes
brighten'd with pleasure as she spoke. She made all the little
domestic preparations--cook'd his favorite dishes--and arranged for
him his own bed, in its own old place. As the tempest mounted to its
fury they discuss'd the probability of his getting soak'd by it;
and the provident dame had already selected some dry garments for a
change. But the rain was soon over, and nature smiled again in her
invigorated beauty. The sun shone out as it was dipping in the west.
Drops sparkled on the leaf-tips--coolness and clearness were in the
air.


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