LXXX.

Doth the blast rise?--the clouded east is red, As if a storm were gathering; and I hear What seems like heavy rain-drops, or the tread, The soft and smother’d step of those that fear Surprise from ambush’d foes. Hark! yet more near It comes, a many-toned and mingled sound; A rustling, as of winds, where boughs are sere-- A rolling, as of wheels that shake the ground From far; a heavy rush, like seas that burst their bound!