An innocent comforter in a modern tragedy offers a disquieted spirit the assurance, as regards the object of his disquiet, that “’twill away in sleep.” But his answer is,—
“No, no! I dare not sleep—for well I know
That then the knife will gleam, the blood will gush,
The form will stiffen!”
From the night of the massacre of Glencoe, Glenlyon, as Macaulay tells us, was never again the man that he had been before that night. The form of his countenance was changed; and “in all places, at all hours, whether he waked or slept, Glencoe was for ever before him.” As with a distinguished foreigner of a later generation, Depuis ce moment, point de sommeil, point de repos; il croyait toujours voir un glaive arrêté sur sa tête. In such cases, the sleepers start from broken slumbers, as if starting back from the edge of a precipice; for,—
“Their whole tranquillity of heart is gone;
The peace wherewith till now they have been blest
Hath taken its departure. In the breast
Fast following thoughts and busy fancies throng;
Their sleep itself is feverish, and possest