FRUIT OF OLD.
23
I doubt myself if heaven in them create
High reasoning power, and foresight, lord of fate;
But when the weather, and the fickle sky, 481
Have changed their track, and shifted wet and dry,
When Jove, with south winds reeking to the sense,
Makes dense the rare, and rarifies the dense,
New feelings rise, and other moods prevail, 485
Than while the clouds were scouring from the gale:
And hence the meadow concert of the birds,
Crows proud of guttural depth, and bounding herds.
But if you duly ponder and compute
The swift sun's travel and the moon's pursuit,
To-morrow's hour shall ne'er your skill belie, 491
Nor starry nights cajole your practised eye.
When first the moon repairs her crescent light,
If she hath clasp'd with hazy horns the night,
A mighty shower is brewing for the swain, 495
A mighty shower impends upon the main.
But if she mantles with a maiden flush,
Wind there shall be; the wind makes Phœbe blush.
High reasoning power, and foresight, lord of fate;
But when the weather, and the fickle sky, 481
Have changed their track, and shifted wet and dry,
When Jove, with south winds reeking to the sense,
Makes dense the rare, and rarifies the dense,
New feelings rise, and other moods prevail, 485
Than while the clouds were scouring from the gale:
And hence the meadow concert of the birds,
Crows proud of guttural depth, and bounding herds.
But if you duly ponder and compute
The swift sun's travel and the moon's pursuit,
To-morrow's hour shall ne'er your skill belie, 491
Nor starry nights cajole your practised eye.
When first the moon repairs her crescent light,
If she hath clasp'd with hazy horns the night,
A mighty shower is brewing for the swain, 495
A mighty shower impends upon the main.
But if she mantles with a maiden flush,
Wind there shall be; the wind makes Phœbe blush.
