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166 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE BLISS OF SLEEP. W?zN Sleep has fetter'd this dull clay, Ah, sure, releas'd, the spirit flies Far, from its earthy cell, away ,. - And snatches all, that day denies'! 'Tis then the bounds of time recede, The past must, then, its spoils restore, The bars of fate no more impede, And distance can divide no more. We see the face, our restless glance, Unveil'd by slumber, asks in vain; We press the hand, which we, perchance, While waking, ne'er shall press again. O,?,,,?d b? Goodie
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