"All that the genial year successive brings, Showers, and the reign of heat, and freezing gales, Appointed signs foreshow; the Sire of all Decreed what signs the southern blast should bring, Decreed the omens of the varying moon: That hinds, observant of the approaching storm, Might tend their herds more near the sheltering stall." PROGNOSTICS.--_1st. Of Wind._ "When storms are brooding--in the leeward gulf Dash the swell'd waves; the mighty mountains pour A harsh, dull murmur; far along the beach Rolls the deep rushing roar; the whispering grove Betrays the gathering elemental strife. Scarce will the billows spare the curved keel; For swift from open sea the cormorants sweep, With clamorous croak; the ocean-dwelling coot Sports on the sand; the hern her marshy haunts Deserting, soars the lofty clouds above; And oft, when gales impend, the gliding star Nightly descends athwart the spangled gloom, And leaves its fire-wake glowing white behind. Light chaff and leaflets flitting fill the air, And sportive feathers circle on the lake." _2d. Of Rain._ "But when grim Boreas thunders; when the East And black-winged West, roll out the sonorous peal, The teeming dikes o'erflow the wide champaign, And seamen furl their dripping sails. The shower, Forsooth, ne'er took the traveler unawares! The soaring cranes descried it in the vale, And shunn'd its coming; heifers gazed aloft, With nostrils wide, drinking the fragrant gale; Skimm'd the sagacious swallow round the lake, And croaking frogs renew'd their old complaint. Oft, too, the ant, from secret chambers, bears Her eggs--a cherished treasure--o'er the sand, Along the narrow track her steps have worn. High vaults the thirsty bow; in wide array The clamorous rooks from every pasture rise With serried wings. The varied sea-fowl tribes, And those that in Caeyster's meadows seek, Amid the marshy pools, their skulking prey, Fling the cool plenteous shower upon their wings, Crouch to the coming wave, sail on its crest, And idly wash their purity of plume. The audacious crow, with loud voice, hails the rain A lonesome wanderer on the thirsty sand. Maidens that nightly toil the tangled fleece, Divine the coming tempest; in the lamp Crackles the oil; the gathering wick grows dim." _3d. Of Fair Weather._