Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/34

 

Oft has the ant, working her narrow road, 445
Brought out her eggs from her recluse abode,
And heav'n's bow drunk; and an unnumber'd croud
Of ravens with close pinions clatter'd loud,
Quitting their food: now fowl of wat'ry kind,
That in Cayster's lakes with bill declin'd 450
Pry o'er the meads of Asius, largely lave
Their backs, besprinkled with the dashing wave,
Now dare the waters, now the surface sweep,
And idly wet their plumage in the deep.
Then the rook calls the rain in lengthen'd tone, 455
And paces on the sandy waste alone.
Nor less the damsels, in nocturnal hour
Working their wool, foretel the coming show'r,
As the lamp burns, when sputt'ring sparkles round
Dart from the oil, and fungusses abound. 460

Nor from less certain tokens are foreseen
Days without show'rs, and an expanse serene:
For then the stars no languid lustre lend,
Nor does the Moon the vault of heav'n ascend
Glimm'ring with borrow'd beams, nor to the eye 465
Clouds of dun hue roll fleecy thro' the sky:
Nor do the birds, by Thetis lov'd, expand
To the warm sun their wings along the strand;

Nor