Daily National Intelligencer

FROM THE NEW ENGLAND GALAXY.

STORM AT NAHANT.

Perhaps no place this side of our majestic Niagara is better calculated to evince the utter feebleness of man than Nahant, during the conflict of the elements in a storm. The waves dashing with infuriated rage against the immovable and indignant rocks—with the terrific howling of the wind, and the long sullen roar of the sea, checked in its high career by a simple bar of sand, which, in the sublime language of Omnipotence, seems to say to mighty ocean, "hitherto shalt thou come, but no further," produces a scene awfully grand and sublime. The description of a storm from the Italian, by Mrs. Radcliffe, may here be seen exemplified more clearly than the strongest imagination could paint. "Call up the spirit of ocean! Bid him raise the storm! The waves begin to heave—to curl—to foam. The white surges run far upon the darkening waters, and mighty sounds of strife are heard! Wrapped in the midnight of the clouds, sits Terror, meditating wo. Her doubtful form appears and fades, like the shadow of death when it mingles with the gloom of the sepulchre, and broods in lonely silence. Her spirits are abroad—they do her bidding. Hark to the shrieks, the echoes of the shores have heard!"

"From cliff to cliff the rattling crags among

Leaps the live thunder—not from one lone cloud,

But every echo now hath found a tongue."—Byron.