258
FRAGMENTS.
She called me once to her sleeping-place;
A strange wild look was upon her face,
Her eye flashed over her cheek so white,
Like a gravestone seen in the pale moonlight,
And she spoke in a low unearthly tone—
The sound from mine ear hath never gone!
"I had last night the loveliest dream:
"My own land shone in the summer beam,
"I saw the fields of the golden grain,
"I heard the reaper's harvest strain;
"There stood on the hills the green pine-tree,
"And the thrush and the lark sang merrily.
"A long and a weary way I had come;
"But I stopped, methought, by mine own sweet home.
"I stood by the hearth, and my father sat there,
"With pale thin face, and snow-white hair!
