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,