DREAMLAND—A SONNET.
At night, when all is hushed in still repose,
When ‘Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep,’
Doth o’er our wearied frame soft vigil keep,
And with her gentle hand our eyelids close,
Then doth the restless spirit take its flight,
While soft Imagination lends her wings,
And the chained watchdog Will no longer springs
To bar its progress through the realms of Night.
Reason, the watchful porter at the gate,