The tortoise made off at the mention of rain,
And troops of scared quadrupeds scour the plain!
The rest quickly rise from their seats in affright,
To see if the warner has told them aright,
As they flatter themselves that it may be mere fancy,
Or put little faith in the toad’s necromancy;
They find he speaks truly, the storm is approaching,
Dark clouds o’er the beautiful blue are encroaching,
The tempest lays low the tall grass in the field,
To the furious blasts even forest-trees yield;