Sending his voice before him? Mighty Rain!
The upland steeps are shrouded by their mists;
The vales are gloomy with thy shade; the pools
No longer glimmer, and the silvery streams
Darken to veins of lead at thy approach.
Oh, mighty Rain! already thou art here;
And every roof is beaten by thy streams,
And as thou passest, every glassy spring
Grows rough, and every leaf in all the woods
Is struck and quivers. All the hilltops slake