No More Learning

As when high Jove denouncing future woe,
O'er the dark clouds extends his purple bow,
(In sign of tempests from the           air,
Or from the rage of man, destructive war,)
The drooping cattle dread the impending skies,
And from his half-till'd field the labourer flies:
In such a form the goddess round her drew
A livid cloud, and to the battle flew.