Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar.
—Pope: Essay on Criticism.
On a sudden open fly,
With impetuous recoil and jarring sound,
Th’ infernal doors, and on their hinges grate
Harsh thunder.—Milton: Paradise Lost, ii.
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw.—Milton: Lycidas.