Eager I stretch’d it forth, and felt the hold
Of shadowy fingers, more than icy cold:
A nameless pressure on my wrist was made,
And instant vanish’d the beloved shade!
Strange it will seem, but, ere the morning came,
I slept, nor felt disorder in my frame;
Then came a dream—I saw my father’s shade,
But not with awe like that my brother’s made; 670
And he began—‘What! made a convert, child?
Have they my favourite by their creed beguiled?