This night is not calm; the equinox still struggles in its storms. The wild rains of the day are abated; the great single cloud disparts and rolls away from heaven, not passing and leaving a sea all sapphire, but tossed buoyant before a continued, long-sounding, high-rushing moonlight tempest. The moon reigns glorious, glad of the gale, as glad as if she gave herself to his fierce caress with love. No Endymion will watch for his goddess to-night. There are no flocks out on the mountains; and it is well, for to-night she welcomes olus.
Moore, sitting in the schoolroom, heard the storm roar round the other gable and along the hall-front. This end was sheltered. He wanted no shelter; he desired no subdued sounds or screened position.
"All the parlours are empty," said he. "I am sick at heart of this cell."

This night is not calm, although the wild rains have abated. The sky is tossed by a high-rushing moonlight tempest. The moon reigns glorious, glad of the gale, as if she gave herself to his fierce caress with love.
Moore, sitting in the schoolroom, hears the storm roar along the hall-front. He wants no shelter; he desires no subdued sounds.
"I am sick at heart of this cell," says he.
