THE DREAM OF THE SICK.
But for me, O thou picture-land of sleep!Thou art all one world of affections deep.
But for me, O thou picture-land of sleep!Thou art all one world of affections deep.
But for me, O thou picture-land of sleep!Thou art all one world of affections deep.
But for me, O thou picture-land of sleep!
Thou art all one world of affections deep.
Mrs. Hemans.
In the dim twilight of my darkened room,When worn and wasted by long suffering,I lay, and thought upon the past. No bloomTo my wan face could even mem’ry bring;For fever’s fiery thirst had drunk my blood,And stolen from my cheek the vital flood.A breath of air—a zephyr from the west,Came stealing through the latticed window frame;To me, as comes a dear expected guest,One long beloved and waited for, it came;It bore a message to my fainting heart,And caused sweet tears through my closed eyes to start.It told my heart that love was ling’ring stillAround the places where I once did dwell;In every grove—near every bubbling rill—On every mound—in every peaceful dell—The guardian spirit of the place was love;I left it there, nor will it thence remove.Well, as I said, it came; the zephyr’s breathCame to my pillow from the far off west;Twas a long journey through a world of death,But, till it reach’d me, would it take no rest,That messenger of love;—all spent it came;A dying zephyr to a dying frame.I felt the faint breeze wand’ring o’er my cheek,Then sank to sleep; and as I slept, I dream’d;And in that blessed dream I felt not weakAnd dying; no! with youthful step I seem’dO’er well remembered scenes again to roam,Once more a tenant of my western home.O! there I wandered as in days of yore,And back to life came dear departed ones;I saw them as I’ve seen them oft before,My own, my best beloved! and setting sunsThrew their mild dying light on many a scene,Where, in my dream, we roved through forests green.How long I slept I know not. Long, long hoursI seem’d communing with the joyous past;Sometimes I saw the brilliant summer flowers,And sometimes heard the moaning winter blast.Dreams are not bounded by the lapse of time,Nor chain’d to place, mind in its flight sublime.In peaceful paths we wander’d hand in hand,We three, whose hearts had “melted into one;”On flowery hills inhaled the breezes bland,And silent watched the slow descending sun;While, every moment, grew more soft, more faint,The rosy hue that sunset loves to paint.I woke. ’Twas but a dream; but dreams have powerTo cheer the heart when real joys have fled;And, while I thought of many a by-gone hour,I to my throbbing heart this promise made:“If e’er in distant lands again I roam,I’ll speed me to that zephyr’s western home.”
In the dim twilight of my darkened room,When worn and wasted by long suffering,I lay, and thought upon the past. No bloomTo my wan face could even mem’ry bring;For fever’s fiery thirst had drunk my blood,And stolen from my cheek the vital flood.A breath of air—a zephyr from the west,Came stealing through the latticed window frame;To me, as comes a dear expected guest,One long beloved and waited for, it came;It bore a message to my fainting heart,And caused sweet tears through my closed eyes to start.It told my heart that love was ling’ring stillAround the places where I once did dwell;In every grove—near every bubbling rill—On every mound—in every peaceful dell—The guardian spirit of the place was love;I left it there, nor will it thence remove.Well, as I said, it came; the zephyr’s breathCame to my pillow from the far off west;Twas a long journey through a world of death,But, till it reach’d me, would it take no rest,That messenger of love;—all spent it came;A dying zephyr to a dying frame.I felt the faint breeze wand’ring o’er my cheek,Then sank to sleep; and as I slept, I dream’d;And in that blessed dream I felt not weakAnd dying; no! with youthful step I seem’dO’er well remembered scenes again to roam,Once more a tenant of my western home.O! there I wandered as in days of yore,And back to life came dear departed ones;I saw them as I’ve seen them oft before,My own, my best beloved! and setting sunsThrew their mild dying light on many a scene,Where, in my dream, we roved through forests green.How long I slept I know not. Long, long hoursI seem’d communing with the joyous past;Sometimes I saw the brilliant summer flowers,And sometimes heard the moaning winter blast.Dreams are not bounded by the lapse of time,Nor chain’d to place, mind in its flight sublime.In peaceful paths we wander’d hand in hand,We three, whose hearts had “melted into one;”On flowery hills inhaled the breezes bland,And silent watched the slow descending sun;While, every moment, grew more soft, more faint,The rosy hue that sunset loves to paint.I woke. ’Twas but a dream; but dreams have powerTo cheer the heart when real joys have fled;And, while I thought of many a by-gone hour,I to my throbbing heart this promise made:“If e’er in distant lands again I roam,I’ll speed me to that zephyr’s western home.”
In the dim twilight of my darkened room,When worn and wasted by long suffering,I lay, and thought upon the past. No bloomTo my wan face could even mem’ry bring;For fever’s fiery thirst had drunk my blood,And stolen from my cheek the vital flood.
In the dim twilight of my darkened room,
When worn and wasted by long suffering,
I lay, and thought upon the past. No bloom
To my wan face could even mem’ry bring;
For fever’s fiery thirst had drunk my blood,
And stolen from my cheek the vital flood.
A breath of air—a zephyr from the west,Came stealing through the latticed window frame;To me, as comes a dear expected guest,One long beloved and waited for, it came;It bore a message to my fainting heart,And caused sweet tears through my closed eyes to start.
A breath of air—a zephyr from the west,
Came stealing through the latticed window frame;
To me, as comes a dear expected guest,
One long beloved and waited for, it came;
It bore a message to my fainting heart,
And caused sweet tears through my closed eyes to start.
It told my heart that love was ling’ring stillAround the places where I once did dwell;In every grove—near every bubbling rill—On every mound—in every peaceful dell—The guardian spirit of the place was love;I left it there, nor will it thence remove.
It told my heart that love was ling’ring still
Around the places where I once did dwell;
In every grove—near every bubbling rill—
On every mound—in every peaceful dell—
The guardian spirit of the place was love;
I left it there, nor will it thence remove.
Well, as I said, it came; the zephyr’s breathCame to my pillow from the far off west;Twas a long journey through a world of death,But, till it reach’d me, would it take no rest,That messenger of love;—all spent it came;A dying zephyr to a dying frame.
Well, as I said, it came; the zephyr’s breath
Came to my pillow from the far off west;
Twas a long journey through a world of death,
But, till it reach’d me, would it take no rest,
That messenger of love;—all spent it came;
A dying zephyr to a dying frame.
I felt the faint breeze wand’ring o’er my cheek,Then sank to sleep; and as I slept, I dream’d;And in that blessed dream I felt not weakAnd dying; no! with youthful step I seem’dO’er well remembered scenes again to roam,Once more a tenant of my western home.
I felt the faint breeze wand’ring o’er my cheek,
Then sank to sleep; and as I slept, I dream’d;
And in that blessed dream I felt not weak
And dying; no! with youthful step I seem’d
O’er well remembered scenes again to roam,
Once more a tenant of my western home.
O! there I wandered as in days of yore,And back to life came dear departed ones;I saw them as I’ve seen them oft before,My own, my best beloved! and setting sunsThrew their mild dying light on many a scene,Where, in my dream, we roved through forests green.
O! there I wandered as in days of yore,
And back to life came dear departed ones;
I saw them as I’ve seen them oft before,
My own, my best beloved! and setting suns
Threw their mild dying light on many a scene,
Where, in my dream, we roved through forests green.
How long I slept I know not. Long, long hoursI seem’d communing with the joyous past;Sometimes I saw the brilliant summer flowers,And sometimes heard the moaning winter blast.Dreams are not bounded by the lapse of time,Nor chain’d to place, mind in its flight sublime.
How long I slept I know not. Long, long hours
I seem’d communing with the joyous past;
Sometimes I saw the brilliant summer flowers,
And sometimes heard the moaning winter blast.
Dreams are not bounded by the lapse of time,
Nor chain’d to place, mind in its flight sublime.
In peaceful paths we wander’d hand in hand,We three, whose hearts had “melted into one;”On flowery hills inhaled the breezes bland,And silent watched the slow descending sun;While, every moment, grew more soft, more faint,The rosy hue that sunset loves to paint.
In peaceful paths we wander’d hand in hand,
We three, whose hearts had “melted into one;”
On flowery hills inhaled the breezes bland,
And silent watched the slow descending sun;
While, every moment, grew more soft, more faint,
The rosy hue that sunset loves to paint.
I woke. ’Twas but a dream; but dreams have powerTo cheer the heart when real joys have fled;And, while I thought of many a by-gone hour,I to my throbbing heart this promise made:“If e’er in distant lands again I roam,I’ll speed me to that zephyr’s western home.”
I woke. ’Twas but a dream; but dreams have power
To cheer the heart when real joys have fled;
And, while I thought of many a by-gone hour,
I to my throbbing heart this promise made:
“If e’er in distant lands again I roam,
I’ll speed me to that zephyr’s western home.”
Charleston,May 20, 1841.
THE END.