When guilt goes forth, let lapwings shrill,And dogs and foxes great with young,And wolves from far Lanuvian hill,Give clamorous tongue:Across the roadway dart the snake,Frightening, like arrow loosed from string,The horses. I, for friendship's sake,Watching each wing,Ere to his haunt, the stagnant marsh,The harbinger of tempest flies,Will call the raven, croaking harsh,From eastern skies.Farewell!—and wheresoe'er you go,My Galatea, think of me:Let lefthand pie and roving crowStill leave you free.But mark with what a front of fearOrion lowers. Ah! well I knowHow Hadria glooms, how falsely clearThe west-winds blow.