As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high
The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye,
Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come,
And hears thy stormy music in the drum!
And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore
The hardy Byron to his native shore—[4]
In horrid climes, where Chiloe’s tempests sweep
Tumultuous murmurs o’er the troubled deep,
’Twas his to mourn Misfortune’s rudest shock,
Scourged by the winds, and cradled on the rock,