47
A DREAM.
T that still, calm, and awful hour,When sleep with all her silent power,
Sheds sweet forgetfulness and rest
O'er many a glad or aching breast;
When mimic scenes of joy or pain
Sweep swiftly o'er the slumbering brain,
Illumed by Fancy's vivid beam,
I dreamt (alas! 'twas but a dream!)
That o'er a path, unknown, untried,
I slowly wandered by thy side;
And though for long our footsteps trod
The mountain heath, the verdant sod,
Or wound along some mossy dell,
No weariness I seemed to feel:
For as in many a long past day,
Thy converse sweet beguiled the way,
Till hill, and vale, and streamlet past,
We reached the mountain height at last.
There, bathed in evening's golden ray,
A lovely land before us lay;
It seemed a calm and beauteous spot,
Where care and pain might be forgot,
And worn out heart, or weary breast,
At last find happiness and rest.
