The Fugitives

The waters are flashing, The white hail is dashing, The lightnings are glancing, The hoar-spray is dancing-- Away! The whirlwind is rolling, The thunder is tolling, The forest is swinging, The minster bells ringing-- Come away! The Earth is like Ocean, Wreck-strewn and in motion: Bird, beast, man and worm Have crept out of the storm-- Come away! 'Our boat has one sail And the helmsman is pale;-- A bold pilot I trow, Who should follow us now,'-- Shouted he-- And she cried: 'Ply the oar!…