While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds,
  The changing skies hang out their sable clouds;
  A sound in air presaged approaching rain,
  And beasts to cover scud across the plain. 
  Warn’d by the signs, the wandering pair retreat,
  To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat. 
  ’Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground,
  And strong, and large, and unimproved around;
  Its owner’s temper, timorous and severe,
  Unkind and griping, caused a desert there. 90

   As near the miser’s heavy doors they drew,
  Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew;
  The nimble lightning, mix’d with showers, began,
  And o’er their heads loud-rolling thunder ran. 
  Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain,
  Driven by the wind, and batter’d by the rain. 
  At length some pity warm’d the master’s breast,
  (’Twas then his threshold first received a guest)
  Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care,
  And half he welcomes in the shivering pair; 100
  One frugal faggot lights the naked walls,
  And Nature’s fervour through their limbs recalls: 
  Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager[1] wine,
  (Each hardly granted) served them both to dine;
  And when the tempest first appear’d to cease,
  A ready warning bid them part in peace.

   With still remark the pondering hermit view’d,
  In one so rich, a life so poor and rude;
  And why should such, (within himself he cried,)
  Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside? 110
  But what new marks of wonder soon took place,
  In every settling feature of his face,
  When from his vest the young companion bore
  That cup, the generous landlord own’d before,
  And paid profusely with the precious bowl
  The stinted kindness of this churlish soul!

   But now the clouds in airy tumult fly,
  The sun emerging opes an azure sky;
  A fresher green the smelling leaves display,
  And glittering as they tremble, cheer the day:  120
  The weather courts them from the poor retreat,
  And the glad master bolts the wary gate.

   While hence they walk, the pilgrim’s bosom wrought
  With all the travail of uncertain thought;
  His partner’s acts without their cause appear,
  ’Twas there a vice, and seem’d a madness here: 
  Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes,
  Lost and confounded with the various shows.

   Now night’s dim shades again involve the sky;
  Again the wanderers want a place to lie, 130
  Again they search, and find a lodging nigh. 
  The soil improved around, the mansion neat,
  And neither poorly low, nor idly great: 
  It seem’d to speak its master’s turn of mind,
  Content, and not for praise, but virtue kind.

   Hither the walkers turn with weary feet,
  Then bliss the mansion, and the master greet: 
  Their greeting fair bestow’d, with modest guise,
  The courteous master hears, and thus replies: