While, every moment, grew more soft, more faint,
The rosy hue that sunset loves to paint.
I woke. ’Twas but a dream; but dreams have power
To cheer the heart when real joys have fled;
And, while I thought of many a by-gone hour,
I to my throbbing heart this promise made:
“If e’er in distant lands again I roam,
I’ll speed me to that zephyr’s western home.”
Charleston, May 20, 1841.
THE END.