On a Thunder-Storm, by Ibrahim Ben Khiret Abu Isaac

BRIGHT smiled the morn, till o’er its head
The clouds in thickened foldings spread
    A robe of sable hue;
Then, gathering round Day's golden King,
They stretched their wide o’ershadowing wing,
    And hid him from our view.

The rain his absent beams deplored,
And, softened into weeping, poured
    Its tears in many a flood;
The lightning laughed, with horrid glare;
The thunder growled, in rage; the air
    In silent sorrow stood.