Fork’d flittings quiver’d through the mournful vast;
Th’ inured coachman even sat aghast;
For Heaven’s artill’ry now had vollied forth
A deaf’ning roar,—which shook the stable earth.
At length the storm subsides; the clouds disperse;
The welcome orb afresh begins t’immerse
The varied herbage, and the waving folds;
Encompassing the furze and heathery wolds:
And all was calm again—save one poor soul,
Whose head still rang with the last thunder-roll.