Aerial clouds, thro' heav'n's resplendent plains
Who wander, parents of prolific rains;
Who nourish fruits, whose wat'ry frames are hurl'd,
By winds impetuous, round the mighty world;
All-thund'ring, lion-roaring, flashing fire,
In Air's wide bosom, bearing thunders dire:
Impell'd by ev'ry stormy, sounding gale,
With rapid course, along the skies ye sail.
With blowing winds your wat'ry frames I call,
On mother Earth with fruitful show'rs to fall.
