admonition,
  A sage survey of his condition. [24]
  The road is black before his eyes, 160
  Glimmering faintly where it lies;
  Black is the sky—­and every hill,
  Up to the sky, is blacker still—­
  Sky, hill, and dale, one dismal room, [25]
  Hung round and overhung with gloom; 165
  Save that above a single height
  Is to be seen a lurid light,
  Above Helm-crag [E]—­a streak half dead,
  A burning of portentous red;
  And near that lurid light, full well 170
  The ASTROLOGER, sage Sidrophel,
  Where at his desk and book he sits,
  Puzzling aloft [26] his curious wits;
  He whose domain is held in common
  With no one but the ANCIENT WOMAN, 175
  Cowering beside her rifted cell,
  As if intent on magic spell;-
  Dread pair, that, spite of wind and weather,
  Still sit upon Helm-crag together!

    The ASTROLOGER was not unseen 180
  By solitary Benjamin;
  But total darkness came anon,
  And he and every thing was gone: 
  And suddenly a ruffling breeze,
  (That would have rocked the sounding trees 185
  Had aught of sylvan growth been there)
  Swept through the Hollow long and bare:  [27]
  The rain rushed down—­the road was battered,
  As with the force of billows shattered;
  The horses are dismayed, nor know 190
  Whether they should stand or go;
  And Benjamin is groping near them,
  Sees nothing, and can scarcely hear them. 
  He is astounded,—­wonder not,—­
  With such a charge in such a spot; 195
  Astounded in the mountain gap
  With thunder-peals, clap after clap,
  Close-treading on the silent flashes—­
  And somewhere, as he thinks, by crashes [28]
  Among the rocks; with weight of rain, 200
  And sullen [29] motions long and slow,
  That to a dreary distance go—­
  Till, breaking in upon the dying strain,
  A rending o’er his head begins the fray again.

    Meanwhile, uncertain what to do, 205
  And oftentimes compelled to halt,
  The horses cautiously pursue
  Their way, without mishap or fault;
  And now have reached that pile of stones,
  Heaped over brave King Dunmail’s bones; 210
  He who had once supreme command,
  Last king of rocky Cumberland;
  His bones, and those of all his Power,
  Slain here in a disastrous hour!

    When, passing through this narrow strait, 215
  Stony, and dark, and desolate,
  Benjamin can faintly hear
  A voice that comes from some one near,
  A female voice:—­“Whoe’er you be,
  Stop,” it exclaimed, “and pity me!” 220
  And, less in pity than in wonder,
  Amid the darkness and the thunder,
  The Waggoner, with prompt command,
  Summons his horses to a stand.