The legendary consisting of original pieces, principally illustrative of American history, scenery, and manners |
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 | THE POET'S DREAM. The legendary |  |
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THE POET'S DREAM.
The poet sleeps in his attic rude,
And visions over his brain are dancing—
Now he sees, in frolic mood,
The tiny fays of night advancing.
Round and round, in their careless glee,
The clear blue lake they deftly skim,
And oft in their wayward revelry,
They point their ebony wands at him.
Now, to the measure of elfin lyre,
And lute, they move in their reckless play;
Or with wands erect, in gay attire,
Featly march on their star-lit way.
Hushed are elfin lyre and lute—
'T is the thrilling bugle and rolling drum;
A column of soldiers, proud and mute—
Hither in bold array they come.
Fierce, they encounter the shadowy foe—
He hears the roar and the din of war,
The clarion-peal and the shriek of woe,
And sees the lances gleaming far.
The poet arose at the break of day,
With a firm and heroic air,
And he framed a glowing and martial lay
Of deeds that were done in the olden day;
Of knights who their bold compeers did slay,
Mid the cymbal's clash and the trumpet's bray,
And were crowned with palm-leaves there.
And visions over his brain are dancing—
Now he sees, in frolic mood,
The tiny fays of night advancing.
Round and round, in their careless glee,
The clear blue lake they deftly skim,
And oft in their wayward revelry,
They point their ebony wands at him.
Now, to the measure of elfin lyre,
And lute, they move in their reckless play;
Or with wands erect, in gay attire,
Featly march on their star-lit way.
Hushed are elfin lyre and lute—
'T is the thrilling bugle and rolling drum;
A column of soldiers, proud and mute—
Hither in bold array they come.
Fierce, they encounter the shadowy foe—
He hears the roar and the din of war,
The clarion-peal and the shriek of woe,
And sees the lances gleaming far.
The poet arose at the break of day,
With a firm and heroic air,
And he framed a glowing and martial lay
Of deeds that were done in the olden day;
Of knights who their bold compeers did slay,
Mid the cymbal's clash and the trumpet's bray,
And were crowned with palm-leaves there.
| THE POET'S DREAM. The legendary | |