As one whose brain habitual [3] frensy fires Owes to the fit in which his soul hath tossed Profounder quiet, when the fit retires, Even so the dire phantasma which had crossed His sense, in sudden vacancy quite lost, 95 Left his mind still as a deep evening stream. Nor, if accosted now, in thought engrossed, Moody, or inly troubled, would he seem To traveller who might talk of any casual theme. XII Hurtle the clouds in deeper darkness piled, 100 Gone is the raven timely rest to seek; He seemed the only creature in the wild On whom the elements their rage might wreak; Save that the bustard, of those regions bleak Shy tenant, seeing by the uncertain light 105 A man there wandering, gave a mournful shriek, And half upon the ground, with strange affright, Forced hard against the wind a thick unwieldy flight. XIII All, all was cheerless to the horizon's bound; The weary eye--which, wheresoe'er it strays, 110 Marks nothing but the red sun's setting round, Or on the earth strange lines, in former days Left by gigantic arms--at length surveys What seems an antique castle spreading wide; Hoary and naked are its walls, and raise 115 Their brow sublime: in shelter there to bide He turned, while rain poured down smoking on every side. XIV Pile of Stone-henge! so proud to hint yet keep Thy secrets, thou that lov'st to stand and hear The Plain resounding to the whirlwind's sweep, 120 Inmate of lonesome Nature's endless year; Even if thou saw'st the giant wicker rear For sacrifice its throngs of living men, Before thy face did ever wretch appear, Who in his heart had groaned with deadlier pain 125 Than he who, tempest-driven, thy shelter now would gain? [4] XV Within that fabric of mysterious form, Winds met in conflict, each by turns supreme; And, from the perilous ground dislodged, [5] through storm And rain he wildered on, no moon to stream 130 From gulf of parting clouds one friendly beam, Nor any friendly sound his footsteps led; Once did the lightning's faint disastrous gleam Disclose a naked guide-post's double head, Sight which tho' lost at once a gleam of pleasure shed. 135 XVI No swinging sign-board creaked from cottage elm To stay his steps with faintness overcome; 'Twas dark and void as ocean's watery realm Roaring with storms beneath night's starless gloom; No gipsy cower'd o'er fire of furze or broom; 140 No labourer watched his red kiln glaring bright, Nor taper glimmered dim from sick man's room; Along the waste no line of mournful light From lamp of lonely toll-gate streamed athwart the night. XVII