Or what new cares await the vernal hour,
When spring descends in many a driving shower,
While bristle into ear the bearded plains,
And the green stalk distends its milky grains?
E’en in mid autumn, while the jocund hind
Bade the gay field the gather’d harvest bind,
Oft have I seen the war of winds contend,
And prone on earth th’ infuriate storm descend—
Waste, far and wide, and by the roots uptorn,
The heavy harvest sweep through ether borne!