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winging, and their shrieks are shoreward borne,

      When ocean-loving cormorants on dry land

      Besport them, and the hern, her marshy haunts

      Forsaking, mounts above the soaring cloud.

      Oft, too, when wind is toward, the stars thou'lt see

      From heaven shoot headlong, and through murky night

      Long trails of fire white-glistening in their wake,

      Or light chaff flit in air with fallen leaves,

      Or feathers on the wave-top float and play.

      But when from regions of the furious North

      It lightens, and when thunder fills the halls

      Of Eurus and of Zephyr, all the fields

      With brimming dikes are flooded, and at sea

      No mariner but furls his dripping sails.

      Never at unawares did shower annoy:

      Or, as it rises, the high-soaring cranes

      Flee to the vales before it, with face

      Upturned to heaven, the heifer snuffs the gale

      Through gaping nostrils, or about the meres

      Shrill-twittering flits the swallow, and the frogs

      Crouch in the mud and chant their dirge of old.

      Oft, too, the ant from out her inmost cells,

      Fretting the narrow path, her eggs conveys;

      Or the huge bow sucks moisture; or a host

      Of rooks from food returning in long line

      Clamour with jostling wings. Now mayst thou see

      The various ocean-fowl and those that pry

      Round Asian meads within thy fresher-pools,

      Cayster, as in eager rivalry,

      About their shoulders dash the plenteous spray,

      Now duck their head beneath the wave, now run

      Into the billows, for sheer idle joy

      Of their mad bathing-revel. Then the crow

      With full voice, good-for-naught, inviting rain,

      Stalks on the dry sand mateless and alone.

      Nor e'en the maids, that card their nightly task,

      Know not the storm-sign, when in blazing crock

      They see the lamp-oil sputtering with a growth

      Of mouldy snuff-clots.

      So too, after rain,

      Sunshine and open skies thou mayst forecast,

      And learn by tokens sure, for then nor dimmed

      Appear the stars' keen edges, nor the moon

      As borrowing of her brother's beams to rise,

      Nor fleecy films to float along the sky.

      Not to the sun's warmth then upon the shore

      Do halcyons dear to Thetis ope their wings,

      Nor filthy swine take thought to toss on high

      With scattering snout the straw-wisps. But the clouds

      Seek more the vales, and rest upon the plain,

      And from the roof-top the night-owl for naught

      Watching the sunset plies her 'lated song.

      Distinct in clearest air is Nisus seen

      Towering, and Scylla for the purple lock

      Pays dear; for whereso, as she flies, her wings

      The light air winnow, lo! fierce, implacable,

      Nisus with mighty whirr through heaven pursues;

      Where Nisus heavenward soareth, there her wings

      Clutch as she flies, the light air winnowing still.

      Soft then the voice of rooks from indrawn throat

      Thrice, four times, o'er repeated, and full oft

      On their high cradles, by some hidden joy

      Gladdened beyond their wont, in bustling throngs

      Among the leaves they riot; so sweet it is,

      When showers are spent, their own loved nests again

      And tender brood to visit. Not, I deem,

      That heaven some native wit to these assigned,

      Or fate a larger prescience, but that when

      The storm and shifting moisture of the air

      Have changed their courses, and the sky-god now,

      Wet with the south-wind, thickens what was rare,

      And what was gross releases, then, too, change

      Their spirits' fleeting phases, and their breasts

      Feel other motions now, than when the wind

      Was driving up the cloud-rack. Hence proceeds

      That blending of the feathered choirs afield,

      The cattle's exultation, and the rooks'

      Deep-throated triumph.

      But if the headlong sun

      And moons in order following thou regard,

      Ne'er will to-morrow's hour deceive thee, ne'er

      Wilt thou be caught by guile of cloudless night.

      When first the moon recalls her rallying fires,

      If dark the air clipped by her crescent dim,

      For folks afield and on the open sea

      A mighty rain is brewing; but if her face

      With maiden blush she mantle, 'twill be wind,

      For wind turns Phoebe still to ruddier gold.

      But if at her fourth rising, for 'tis that

      Gives surest counsel, clear she ride thro' heaven

      With horns unblunted, then shall that whole day,

      And to the month's end those that spring from it,

      Rainless and windless be, while safe ashore

      Shall sailors pay their vows to Panope,

      Glaucus, and Melicertes, Ino's child.

      The sun too, both at rising, and when soon

      He dives beneath the waves, shall yield thee signs;

      For signs, none trustier, travel with the sun,

      Both those which in their course with dawn he brings,

      And those at star-rise. When his springing orb

      With spots he pranketh, muffled in a cloud,

      And shrinks mid-circle, then of showers beware;

      For then the South comes driving from the deep,

      To trees and crops and cattle bringing bane.

      Or when at day-break through dark clouds his rays

      Burst and are scattered, or when rising pale

      Aurora quits Tithonus' saffron bed,

      But sorry shelter then, alack I will yield

      Vine-leaf to ripening grapes; so thick a hail

      In spiky showers spins rattling on the roof.

      And this yet more 'twill boot thee bear in mind,

      When now, his course upon Olympus run,

      He draws to his decline: for oft we see

      Upon the sun's own face strange colours stray;

      Dark tells of rain, of east winds fiery-red;

      If spots with ruddy

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