Some Meatber portents 109 



Through the clear stream the fishes rise, 

 And nimbly catch the incautious flies. 

 The glow-worms num'rous, clear and bright, 

 Illumed the dewy hill last night. 



At dusk the squalid toad was seen, 

 Like quadruped, stalk o'er the green. 

 The whirling wind the dust obeys, 

 And in the rapid eddy plays. 



The frog has changed his yellow vest, 

 And in a russet coat is drest. 

 The sky is green, the air is still, 

 The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill. 



The dog, so alter'd in his taste, 

 Quits mutton-bones, on grass to feast. 

 Behold the rooks, how odd their flight, 

 They imitate the gliding kite, 

 And seem precipitate to fall, 

 As if they felt the piercing ball. 



The tender colts on back do lie, 



Nor heed the traveller passing by. 



In fiery red the sun doth rise, 



Then wades through clouds to mount the skies. 



'Twill surely rain, we see't with sorrow, 

 No working in the fields to-morrow. 



