THE HAPPY HOLLOW DREAM
(By the “Oracle.”)
There’s an unfrequented valley
In the mountain of Somally,
Where the skies so lulling seem,
That they call the “Happy Hollow,”
And you’ll find it if you follow
Up an ever-winding stream.
There if ever you should wander,
Linger for awhile to ponder
By the subtle flowing stream,
Winding over rude or mallow,
Where it murmurs deep or shallow
Of a strange, alluring theme.
For it springs from hidden fountains
In the distant, misty mountains,
Where it weaves a silver ream.
Then it hastens to the valley,
There to whirl and sing and dally
In a dance of crystal gleam.
It may seem an idle fancy,
Or a scheme of Pegomancy
That was practiced long ago,
But you’ll find that unexpected,
All your being is affected
By the waters murmuring so.
Of the fountains that they sprang from,
Of the mountains that they sang from
At an altitude so high
That they even heard the whispers
In the mornings and the vespers
Of the saints that were so nigh.
And the waters bring the tidings,
And they tell of the abidings
Of departed souls you know,
For their voices seemed to follow
Down into the Happy Hollow
Where the winding waters flow.
Where a light that has the seeming
Of a pure benignly beaming—
Ever there the day and night—
Brings to you a tranquil feeling
Through its soft rays to you stealing
Of a calm, serene delight.
Then you’ll fall to sweetly dreaming
While the mellow light is gleaming
On the ever-winding stream;
And the world will turn to smiling,
Through the strange and soft beguiling
Of the Happy Hollow Dream.
You will hear a loved one singing,
On the waters that are bringing
To your dream-enraptured ear,
Oh! the very tones that ravished
Once your heart until it lavished
Ev’ry love to lovers dear!
And beyond the mind’s creation,
In a pleasing presentation,
Faces to you will appear
Of departed ones you well knew,
Who will smile as if to tell you
They are ever, ever near.
In the mountains of Somally
Where the stream winds through the valley,
And the skies so lulling seem,
There the world will turn to smiling
Through the strange and soft beguiling
Of the Happy Hollow Dream.
Where’s Letha? Where’s Letha? Now where did she go?
And what could possess her to run away so?
“’Tis like her, she’s shy, and she’s hiding somewhere,
While the bold Roland Rare is awaiting her here.”
Thus the chap’ron ran calling and searching for Letha
Till she found her at last in a hiding beneath a
Round table. “I wish I could stay here and die,”
Said Letha, “I hate to pretend that I cry.”
But she tripped to the floor with a little shy glance,
And began with bold Roland to sing and to dance.