ON A THUNDER STORM

Bright smil'd the morn, till o'er its head
The clouds in thicken'd foldings spread
A robe of sable hue;
Then, gathering round day's golden king,
They stretch'd their wide o'ershadowing wing,
And hid him from our view.

The rain his absent beams deplor'd,
And, soften'd into weeping, pour'd
Its tears in many a flood;
The lightning laughed with horrid glare;
The thunder growl'd, in rage; the air
In silent sorrow stood.

_Ibrahim Ben Khiret Abou Isaac_.


TO MY FAVORITE MISTRESS

I saw their jealous eyeballs roll,
I saw them mark each glance of mine,
I saw thy terrors, and my soul
Shar'd ev'ry pang that tortur'd thine.

In vain to wean my constant heart,
Or quench my glowing flame, they strove;
Each deep-laid scheme, each envious art,
But wak'd my fears for her I love.