Hearts, whose long struggle through unpitied years,
None saw but Him who marks the mourner’s tears;
The obscurely noble! who evaded not
The woe which he had will’d should be their lot,
But nerved themselves to bear!”
“The Dream,” as a whole, is the finest piece in the volume before us. It abounds with glorious passages, of which we can only give two more examples—the one, impassioned, nervous, and stirring as a trumpet—the other sweet, and low, and musical as the rustle of an angel’s wing. Few authors can boast such a varied power.
“Heaven give thee poverty, disease, or death,
Each varied ill that waits on human breath,
Rather than bid thee linger out thy life,
In the long toil of such unnatural strife.