At noon, the coach[176] had yet twelve leagues to run:
The air grew chilly, and dark clouds begun
To form a leaden mass: entirely hid
Was he,[177] who in the morn ’rose round and red:
A dreadful storm was evidently near;
And distant rumblings fell upon the ear:
Yon wary sheep were gath’ring in a hav’n,
A shelter’d nook: the wind had now aris’n,
And boist’rously swept o’er the open-plain:
The sullen-featured clouds dispersed their rain