“Soon as I woke, and could my thoughts collect,
What can I think, I cried, or what reject?
Was it my brother? Aid me, power divine!
Have I not seen him, left he not a sign?
Did I not then the placid features trace
That now remain—the air, the eye, the face?
And then my father—but how different seem
These visitations—this, indeed, a dream! 690
“Then for that token on my wrist—’tis here,
And very slight to you it must appear;