THE DREAM.

I dreamed a dream—and still upon my mind
The image of that dream, on Memory's page
Inscribed in letters large and legible,
Rests vivid as the lightning's scathing flash.
Beneath a spreading oak, that towered high
And lone upon a hillock's grassy plot,
A Maiden stood—and by her side a Youth,
Whose summers did, tho' few, outnumber hers;
And she was beautiful as rainbow tints—
Her voice, like sweetest music borne upon
The bosom of some gentle breeze far o'er
The hushed and silent waters of the deep—
Her breath, like fragrant odors from the lap
Of Flora sent, when Morning's blush appears—
Her heart, the home where wild affections dwelt—
Her mind, of intellectual power the seat—
Her eye, the mirror to her speaking soul!
Upon her marble brow was set the seal
Of Dignity—and in her slender form
Were blended grace and perfect symmetry.
The Youth was tall, erect—but unlike her
In all things save affection's swelling tide:
Unknowing of the bright and quenchless fire,
At Beauty's altar lit, that constant burned
Within his bosom's deep recess, the world
Had deemed him changeful as the fitful wind.
Silent they were, and round them silence reigned:
Above, the clear blue ether spread her veil,
And by them swept the gentle, fresh'ning breeze
That cooled the burning temples of the one,
The flowing tresses of the other waved.
Beneath them was a wide spread plain, o'er which
The full Moon poured her streams of silver light,
And in a flood of glory bathed both plain
And rugged cliffs that wildly rose beyond.
Upon that lovely scene the maiden looked
That joy and stillness breathed into her heart;
But he that meeting, had not sought to gaze
On landscapes, living though they were. He saw
But her whose form before him rose, so bright,
So beautiful, that all else faded from
The view: He heard no sound save that alone
Which from his beating heart was sent: and oft
He did essay to breathe the hallowed thoughts
That in his bosom long had slept—the pent-
Up fountains of his love to ope; but oft
In vain, 'till faltering accents came at last,
And told the feelings of his inmost soul.
But she was calm; no falling of the eye—
No heightened color's tinge—no trembling of
That silver voice, spoke aught of passion there.
Yet kindness breathed in every word that fell
From off her Angel lips—and told that though
Her heart with his beat not in unison,
It still could feel for sorrows not its own.
Though soft, like breath of pois'nous Simoom came
Her voice. Young Hope her dewy pinions shook,
And as she winged her airy flight away,
Came casking Care her place to fill. And yet
A moment's space he lingered there; and as
Upon her saddened face he once again
Did look with mingled feelings, inly swore
To perish ere his love should fade and die.
And she did pensive turn her steps along
Their homeward way, again to be the life,
The light, the chiefest joy of all around.

II.

A change swept o'er the aspect of my dream,
And in its mystic flight my spirit bore
Me to the festive hall. I saw them 'midst
The thoughtless throng—their eyes lit up with joy—
Their lips all wreathed in smiles—and on their cheeks
The glowing hues of pleasure mantled high.
He spoke not oft to her, but frequent did
Address him to some other fair—and all
Did deem, and she did hope that love of her
Was buried deep in Lethe's magic pool;
And lighter then of heart to think that care
His mind had left, unwonted gladness beamed
Forth from her speaking eye, and lit with ten-
Fold lustre up those features ever fair.

III.

The scene was changed. Apart within the walls
Of his lone study sat the youth. Before
Him lay a letter, breathing much of deep,
Impassioned love. Yes, he again had dared
At that same Angel-shrine his heart to lay,
And, well as words could speak, a love to paint,
Not torpid, cold and calculating, like
The selfish feeling of a worldly man—
But with the every fibre of his heart
Inwove. For he had seen her oft, and well
Had studied both her features, mind and heart,
Since first the pangs of unrequited love
Across his bosom shot: in all things had
He found her of such perfect, faultless mould—
So far beyond compare with all that e'er
His eye had looked upon—yea, e'en than aught
Of fairy form, which frolic fancy in
Her wildest mood had shadowed glowing forth
To young imagination's quickened sight,—
That madly had he drunk at passion's fount,
Ere yet the voice of reason whispered late,
(Too late, alas! for in the vortex was
He twirling then, unskilled the yawning gulf
To shun,) that she was not for one like him.
Perchance the spell that bound him unto her
And deep affection's gushing waters stirred,
Was wrought into its present strength—for that
She minded him of one—a sister dear—
Like her in nature as in name, on whom
His heart did centre once, when joyous, bright
And sunny hours e'er gilded o'er the stream
Of early life about their childhood's home;
When each was to the other all that earth
Of joy could give—a little world—beyond
Whose narrow bounds their youthful vision then
Extended not. And now in her he saw
The image of that sister's mind and heart
Reflected back in colors yet more bright,
And felt that life to him was nothing worth,
Except with her its joys and ills were shared.

IV.

The scene was changed. Within her father's home
The maiden sat, and bent her o'er the page
On which were traced the wild outpourings of
Her lover's heart. A cloud was on her brow—
Not gathered there by anger, but by grief.
And long she sorrowed o'er the fate of one
Whom she had learned to value far above
The worthless crowd that throngs round Beauty's form;
Then sudden snatched a pen, and tho' it pained
Her much, did haste once more in kindest terms
To bid him banish Hope—for tho' a friend
She'd ever be—to him she could no more.

Again my spirit bore me to the youth's
Lone study, where I saw him pacing to
And fro, with heavy step and downcast look.
His eye was fixed and dull—all smiles had fled,
And o'er his pallid, bloodless cheek had woe
His sable mantle flung. But whilst he thus
Was moved, anon there entered one endeared
By Friendship's strongest ties, who knew the fate
His fondest hopes had met, and told a tale
Of which he deemed not aught before—a tale
That scarce at first could credence gain, so dread
Its import was; yet soon he found 'twas but
Too true—"His sacred letter, ere it reached
Its destined port, had by some strange mischance
Been torn, its secrets filched and heralded
Abroad: yet, by the wakeful kindness of
That much-loved one, his hallowed thoughts had reached
The ears of few." Then sudden o'er him came
A fearful mood that shook his every limb.
Like liquid fire his blood along his veins
Did course, and to his throbbing temples mount—
Then rush tumultuous back upon his heart
That sent it once again with quickened speed
Along his swollen, well-nigh bursting veins;
And from his lips at times did fall unmeet
And vengeful words, that told what passion stirred
Within. But that soon passed, and to the eye
His troubled soul, as that of infant hushed
To sleep upon its mother's breast, was calm.

VI.

The scene was changed. Before the altar stood
The maiden, in her bridal vestments clad,
And gave her hand and virgin heart away—
Whilst mantling blushes o'er her features spread
Like Iris' colors on the deepened blue
Of Heaven's high vault—to one whose kindling eye
Was turned with rapture on her matchless face,
And who in part was like unto the youth
That first beside her stood—yet not the same.
And she did love him with a boundless love—
Deep, pure and changeless as Jehovah's word—
The very essence of her being, that life's
Quiescent stream with fairest garlands strewed—
For he her youthful heart's responsive chord
Had known to touch with sweet and winning words,
By graceful mien, and giant strength of mind.
Unblest he was with Mammon's glittering hoard—
In nothing rich, save worth's neglected store;
And yet for that, her heart with wildest joy
Did but the closer cling unchanged to him.
And he, with pride and pleasure took her to
His bosom beating high; for none could know,
And knowing not admire. But his was not
The fervent adoration of the heart,
In prostrate homage bowed before her shrine,
That moved the soul of him who first essayed
Her peerless love to win. And yet before
Them to all seeming lay a flowery path,
Along whose scented walks they might their way
With noiseless step and even tenor wend.

VII.

Once more, and only once, a change passed o'er
My fitful dream. In sultry, southern clime,
Again upon my vision fell the tall,
Attenuated image of that youth,
Whom first beneath the spreading oak I saw;
And he was changed not less in feature than
In heart. The glow of health had fled his cheek,
Now haggard, swart and bronzed by burning sun.
His eye, once bright with joyous life, had lost
Its lustre now, and deep upon his brow
Had care her furrows traced. His spirit too,
So light and buoyant once, was now all bound
And broken like the willow's drooping branch.
But o'er his heart a yet more fearful change
Had come. Once warm and sensibly alive
To pity's cry—e'er breathing love for all—
Now cold and seared—the living fountains of
Its sympathy were dried—and dead it was
To all things save the worldly schemes that fierce
Ambition wrought. And none did know the weight
Of anguish on its aching chords that pressed,
Since living man no commune held with him:
For he did spurn them as unhallowed things,
And 'round him wrapt the cloak of selfishness:
For what was now the world to him, since she
Whose presence had made all things beautiful,
Was lost, forever lost? And he did look
Unmoved on fairest form, and brightest eye;
Unmoved he heard full many a voice attuned
In sweet accordance with the soft piano;
For mute were all the echoes of his soul,
Since never could he hope again such pure,
Such bright, such dazzling purity to find,
As dwelt within the heart of her he loved.
And naught the slumbering powers of his mind
Did rouse and prompt to grapple with the herd
That crossed his path, save only the desire
To banish thought and leave a name behind.
For he did feel that none would glory in
His present fame, and that he was a lone
And desert being—all forgetting, and
By all forgot. And though his soul did thirst
At honor's fount to drink and laurels win,
He inly scorned the world—the world's acclaim—
And whilst it flattered, loathed its fulsome praise.
And yet unto all outward seeming was
His spirit calm as ocean's waves, when lie
The winds of Heaven upon her bosom hushed.
Here ceased my dream—for on my slumbers broke
The glare of day, and called my spirit home.

SYLVESTER.