I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under:
And then again I dissolve in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance.
Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks,—
Ere I own a usurper, I’ll couch with the fox;
And tremble, false whigs, in the midst of your glee,