In one rude roar he forced the wind,
And sounded strong, and far, and wide.
The organ fell to Byron’s share,
Low sullen sounds his grief beguil’d:
A solemn, strange, and mingled air!
’Twas sad by fits, by starts ’twas wild
* * * * *
But thou, O Croker, bard of flame,
What was thy prophetic story?
Still it spoke of promised glory,