Signs of Foul Weather.
The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,
And spiders from their cobwebs peep.
Loud quack the ducks, the sea-fowl cry,
The distant hills are looking nigh.
Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws,
Sits wiping o'er her whisker'd jaws.
The smoke from chimneys right ascends,
Then spreading, back to earth it bends.
The walls are damp, the ditches smell,
Clos'd is the pink-ey'd pimpernel.
Quite restless are the snorting swine,
The busy flies disturb the kine.
The wind unsteady veers around,
Or settling in the south is found.
The glow-worms, numerous and bright,
Illumed the dewy hill last night.
Through the clear stream the fishes rise
And nimbly catch the incautious flies.