The storm died away. It was a strange scene which the morning sun beheld. The shore was strewn with drifted wreck. The shattered schooners lay about the reef. The streets were crossed with fallen trees, and roofless houses stood amid the groves. A fragment of the _Eber’s_ bow was high upon the beach. Far up the western reef the _Adler_ lay. The _Olga_ stood unharmed upon the eastern shoal. Before the consulate, the _Nipsic_ was fast in the sand. Only the bow of the _Vandalia’s_ hull could be seen. By her side was the _Trenton_, grand though in ruin. And above the desolation floated the Star Spangled Banner, triumphant over the storm. CHAPTER XII. ELECTRIC STORMS. “Far along, From peak to peak the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! And this is in the night:--Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, A portion of the tempest and of thee! How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again ’tis black--and now, the glee, Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth, As if they did rejoice o’er a young earthquake’s birth.” Who has not quailed before the storm? Few, indeed, are they whose spirits kindle with the flash of the lightning, and joy in the roar of the thunder, that fills the heavens like the voice of many waters. Bold is the heart that in such scenes can mount with a Byron, and say to the Avernian gloom that wraps the frightened world, “Let me be A portion of the tempest and of thee!” Only that fiery, untameable spirit, fearless of man or demon, dare so approach the King of the Storm, or pat the mane of Ocean in his wrath. A thousand plaudits has he won--but not a follower: for when the lightning flames and roars, the cheering rabble slink away in fear, nor dare to emulate that genius, strange and wild as chaos as itself. [Illustration: THE LYSE FIORD.] The fear of the tempest belongs to every age. The ancient Greeks, from whom the Romans borrowed and modified the myth, told how Hephaistos toiled in his volcanic forge to form the bolts of Zeus, great father of gods and men. These flaming weapons could none oppose. By them rebellious giants were overturned. And the bold Goth, rugged and vigorous, heard the voice of the war-god, Thor, shout to him: “Mine eyes are the lightning, The wheels of my chariot Roll in the thunder!”