With sinew of the bull, and sheltering throw
Athwart thy shoulders when the rains impend;
And let [106]a well-wrought cap thy head defend,
And screen thine ears, while drenching showers descend.
Bleak is the morn, when blows the north from high;
Oft when the dawnlight paints the starry sky,
A misty cloud suspended hovers o’er
Heaven’s blessed earth with fertilizing store
Drain’d from the living streams: aloft in air
The whirling winds the buoyant vapour bear,