TO A DOVE
The Dove to ease an aching breast,
In piteous murmurs vents her cares;
Like me she sorrows, for opprest,
Like me, a load of grief she bears.
Her plaints are heard in every wood,
While I would fain conceal my woes;
But vain's my wish, the briny flood,
The more I strive, the faster flows.
Sure, gentle Bird, my drooping heart
Divides the pangs of love with thine,
And plaintive murm'rings are thy part,
And silent grief and tears are mine.
Serage Alwarak.
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.