A PRESENTIMENT.

“Oh father, let us hence — for hark,

A fearful murmur shakes the air;

The clouds are coming swift and dark;—

What horrid shapes they wear!

A wingèd giant sails the sky;

Oh father, father, let us fly!”

“Hush, child; it is a grateful sound,

That beating of the summer shower;

Here, where the boughs hang close around,

We'll pass a pleasant hour,

Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain,

Has swept the broad heaven clear again.”

“Nay, father, let us haste — for see,

That horrid thing with hornèd brow —

His wings o'erhang this very tree,

He scowls upon us now;

His huge black arm is lifted high;

Oh father, father, let us fly!”

“Hush, child;” but, as the father spoke,

Downward the livid firebolt came,

Close to his ear the thunder broke,

And, blasted by the flame,

The child lay dead; while dark and still

Swept the grim cloud along the hill.