Watch, too, the Manger. Like a faint mist in the North it plays the guide beneath Cancer. Around it are borne two faintly gleaming stars, not far apart nor very near but distant to the view a cubit’s length, one on the North, while the other looks towards the South. They are called the Asses, and between them is the Manger. On a sudden, when all the sky is clear, the Manger wholly disappears, while the stars that go on either side seem nearer drawn to one another: not slight then is the storm with which the fields are deluged. If the Manger darken and both stars remain unaltered, they herald rain. But if the Ass to the North of the Manger shine feebly through a faint mist, while the Southern Ass is gleaming bright, expect wind from the South: but if in turn the Southern Ass is cloudy and the Northern bright, watch for the North wind.
A sign of wind be the swelling sea, the far sounding beach, the sea-crags when in calm they echo, and the moaning of the mountain crests.
When, too, the heron in disordered flight comes landward from the sea with many a scream, he is precursor of the gale at sea. Anon, too, the stormy petrels when they flit in calm, move in companies to face the coming winds. Oft before a gale the wild ducks or sea-wheeling gulls beat their wings on the shore, or a cloud is lengthwise resting on the mountain peaks.
Marked, too, ere now as sign of wind have been the withered petals, the down of the white thistle, when they abundant float, some in front and others behind, on the surface of the silent sea.
From the quarter whence come the peals of summer thunder and the lightning flash, thence expect the onset of the gale. When through the dark night shooting stars fly thick and their track behind is white, expect a wind coming in the same path. If other shooting stars confront them and others from other quarters dart, then be on thy guard for winds from every quarter—winds, which beyond all else are hard to judge, and blow beyond man’s power to predict.
But when from East and South the lightnings flash, and again from the West and anon from the North, verily then the sailor on the sea fears to be caught at once by the waves beneath and the rain from heaven. For such lightnings herald rain. Often before the coming rain fleece-like clouds appear or
a double rainbow girds the wide sky or some star is ringed with darkening halo.
Often the birds of lake or sea insatiably dive and plunge in the water, or around the mere for long the swallows dart, smiting with their breasts the rippling water, or more hapless tribes, a boon to watersnakes, the fathers of the tadpoles croak from the lake itself, or the lonely tree-frog drones his matin lay, or by jutting bank the chattering crow stalks on the dry land before the coming storm, or it may be dips from head to shoulder in the river, or even dives completely, or hoarsely cawing ruffles it beside the water.
And ere now before rain from the sky, the oxen gazing heavenward have been seen to sniff the air, and the ants from their hollow nests bring up in haste all their eggs, and in swarms the centipedes are seen to climb the walls, and wandering forth crawl those worms that men call dark earth's intestines
(earthworms). Tame fowl with father Chanticleer well preen their plumes and cluck aloud with voice like noise of water dripping upon water.
Ere now, too, the generations of crows and tribes of jackdaws have been a sign of rain to come from Zeus, when they appear in flocks and screech like hawks. Crows, too, imitate with their note the heavy splash of clashing rain, or after twice croaking deeply they raise a loud whirring with frequent flapping of their wings, and ducks of the homestead and jackdaws which haunt the roof seek cover under the eaves and clap their wings, or seaward flies the heron with shrill screams.
Slight not aught of these things when on thy guard for rain, and heed the warning, if beyond their wont the midges sting and are fain for blood, or if on a misty night snuff gather on the nozzle of the lamp, or if in winter's season the flame of the lamp now rise steadily and anon sparks fly fast from it, like light bubbles, or if on the light itself there dart quivering rays, or if in height of summer the island birds are borne in crowding companies.
Be not heedless of the pot or tripod on the fire, if many sparks encircle it, nor heedless when in the ashes of blazing coal there gleam spots like millet seed, but scan those too when seeking signs of rain.
But if a misty cloud be stretched along the base of a high hill, while the upper peaks shine clear, very bright will be the sky. Fair weather, too, shalt thou have, when by the sea-verge is seen a cloud low on the ground, never reaching a height, but penned there like a flat reef of rock.
Seek in calm for signs of storms, and in storm for signs of calm. Scan well the Manger, whereby wheels the Crab, when first it is freed of every covering cloud. For its clearing marks the waning tempest.
Take for sign of storm abating the steady-burning flame of the lamp, the gentle hooting of the owl at night, and the crow if with gentle varying note she caw at eventide, and the rooks, when singly they utter two lonely notes followed by frequent rapid screams, and when in fuller company they bethink them of the roost, full of voice.
One would think them glad, seeing how they caw now in shrill screams, now with frequent flight around the foliage of the tree, now on the tree, whereon they roost, and anon they wheel and clap their wings. Cranes, too, before a gentle calm will wing their way steadily onward in one track, all in a company, and in fair weather will be borne in no disordered flight.
But when the clear light from the stars is dimmed, though no thronging clouds veil, nor other darkness hide nor Moon obscure, but the stars on a sudden thus causelessly wax wan, hold that no more for sign of calm but look for storm. Foul weather, too, will come, when of the clouds some are stationary, but others passing by and others following after.
Sure signs of storm are geese hastening with many a cackle to their food, the nine-generation crow cawing at night, the jackdaw chattering late, the chaffinch piping in the dawn, waterfowl all fleeing inward from the sea, the wren or the robin retreating into hollow clefts, and tribes of jackdaws returning late to roost from dry feeding-grounds. When the furious tempest is imminent, the tawny bees go not far afield to cull wax, but wheel hard by their honey and their stores, nor do cranes on high in long lines wing their steady onward course, but wheel and double in their flight.
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