When numerous Birds their island home forsake,
And to firm land their airy voyage make,
The ploughman, watching their ill-omened flight, 380
Fears for his golden fields a withering blight.
Not so the goatherd—he their advent hails,
As certain promise of o'erflowing pails.
And such is human life—the Fates ordain,
That one man's loss should be another's gain.
Coming events men anxious seek to know,
Pregnant of joy to some—to some of woe.
The shepherd, as a-field his charge he drives,
From his own flock prognostics oft derives.
When they impetuous seek the grassy plain, 390
He marks the advent of the storm and rain;
And when grave Rams, and Lambkins full of play,
Butt at each other's heads in mimic fray:
When the horn’d leaders stamp the dusty ground
With their fore-feet—all fours the young ones bound:
When homeward, as the shades of night descend,
Reluctantly and slow their way they wend,
Stray from the flock, and linger-one by one,
Heedless of shepherd's voice, and missive stone.
The herdsmen too, while yet the skies are fair, 400
Warn’d by their Bullocks, for the storm prepare:
When with rough tongue they lick their polished hoof—
When bellowing loud they seek the sheltering roof—
