But ev’n his music seem’d composed and low,
When we were handled by this Hailstone Chorus;
Whilst thunder rumbled, with its awful sound,
And frozen comfits roll’d along the ground—
As big as bullets:—Lord! how they did batter
Our crazy tiles:—And now the lightning flash’d
Alternate with the dark, until the latter
Was rarest of the two:—the gust too dash’d
So terribly, I thought the hail must shatter
Some panes,—and so it did—and first it smash’d