The Quiet Rural Church

 It was a humble church, with arches low, 
 The church we entered there, 
 Where many a weary soul since long ago 
 Had past with plaint or prayer. 
 
 Mournful and still it was at day's decline, 
 The day we entered there; 
 As in a loveless heart, at the lone shrine, 
 The fires extinguished were. 
 
 Scarcely was heard to float some gentlest sound, 
 Scarcely some low breathed word, 
 As in a forest fallen asleep, is found 
 Just one belated bird. 


 A STORM SIMILE. 
 
 ("Oh, regardez le ciel!") 
 
 {June, 1828.} 


 See, where on high the moving masses, piled 
 By the wind, break in groups grotesque and wild, 
 Present strange shapes to view; 
 Oft flares a pallid flash from out their shrouds, 
 As though some air-born giant 'mid the clouds 
 Sudden his falchion drew. 


 

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