University of Virginia Library

When we are wanderers in the Land of Dreams,
The Land of cloudless stars and waveless streams,
The Land of golden temples, chrystal towers,
And bright enchanted fruits and deathless flowers,
How do our floating thoughts appear to be
Mixed to one Strain of perfect Harmony!
Yes, then the quickened, unencumbered mind,
That leaves its cares, and doubts, and fears behind,
Rejoiceth in Itself—and finds a voice
To tell out to Itself it doth rejoice!—
Then freed from Earth's sepulchral wastes and glooms,
A Melody of Thoughts that Mind becomes!
Till while it hearkens to its own sweet strain,
Which gently doth enthrall it and enchain,
It feels the rapture that ne'er knew a bound,
And dreams of Angel-presences around!
And who shall say that Angels may not stoop
From Heaven and gather round—a glorious groupe—
To listen to those thoughts, that, pure and free,
Flow to one rich celestial Melody,
Like that bright Saint—haunted by Seraph throng,
That loved the Echoes of a Mortal Song—
We may be circled round by Shapes divine—
While pours the Soul its deep-toned Music fine!

What happy scenes to our rapt senses rise,
While golden slumber on the tired lid lies,
If Fancy and if Feeling strongly reign
O'er the impassioned Heart—the enkindling brain,
Bright Heavenly Hopes with Earthly Memories sweet,
There richly blend, and exquisitely meet.
Yes! Heaven and Earth together mingling seem,
In the dear rapture of that blessed Dream,
When Earth wears hues of beauty to the eye,
Caught from the glorious realms of Light on high,—
And Heaven—the glimpsed and glowing Heaven, the while
A sweet familiar look—an Earth-born smile!
Aye—by fair Visions of Elysium blessed
Shall be the Soul—by Love and Faith possessed,
By Fancy and by Feeling finely fraught,
By Virtue tempered, and by Nature taught,
When golden Slumber, in its beauty lies
Upon the lids that shroud the wearied eyes!
And still those Visions shall more clearly glow,
And, crowned by wing'd Imagination, grow
Lofty and beautiful as white-robed Truth,
Pure as the Stars—e'en bright as the Heart's youth.
(For that alone is Youth!—ere one sweet light
Hath been withdrawn into Affliction's night,
Ere one deep feeling hath been crushed away
In quick decrepitude and forced decay!—
Oh! the Heart's youth—how oft doth that depart
While all is young—except, except the Heart!
How oft hath that irrevocably flown
Ere Life's full strength and treasures are our own,
Ere its more ripened Seasons have matured
That frame where dwells the Immortal Soul immured)—
Dreams! Summer-sunshine Pageants of the Heart!—
Joy—Glory—Hope—Light—Love—how soon ye part,
That should for ever stay, when actual things
Are full of thorns, and cankers, and of stings—
(Yet oft ye leave—Oh! golden Dreams!—behind
A glowing freshness, living through the Mind,
And freshening o'er the fainting, failing Heart,
That ceased alone beneath your smiles to smart!)—
Lovely in your developements ye are!
Restorers of the emotions pure, which Care
May have subdued, or weakened, or repressed,
Though once of glowing truth, and warmth possessed.
Regenerators of Life's Energies!—
Renewers of the Hope that hidden lies
In the Heart's closest core, for, loath to part,
Hope seeks the inmost chamber of that Heart,
When storms are sternly gathering far around
(What time harsh Disappointment comes to wound)
And dwells therein unknown and unavowed,
Like a young Sunbeam burning in a Cloud—
Till something calls it forth—once more to play
In light and life—to rend its shining way,
And burst at once from Darkness into Day!
Oft, oft by happy dreams 'tis thus call'd forth,
Oh! happy Dreams—what words can speak your worth—
What language can your loveliness unfold—
Bright luxuries—never to be bought by gold—
Peace to the troubled and the oppressed are ye,
And rest to those long-toss'd on Life's rough Sea!
Unnumbered fairy-gifts 'tis yours to grant,
Love to the Lorn ye are—Wealth unto Want—
Health unto Sickness—Brightness unto Gloom—
A respite to the Wretch who shrinks from Doom—
Power to the Weak—and Cheer unto the Lone—
And freedom to the Slave, who lives to groan—
Balm unto Pain—Youth unto Age—and Sight
Unto the Blind—and to the Sad—Delight!

Dreams—Dreams—Oh! ye are most precious to the Soul,
When to one Harmony ye wake the whole,
A perfect melody of thoughts supreme—
While Heaven and Earth to us become a Dream—
The Sun Eternal, and the Stars Serene—
The Firmaments—the Sea—Creation's Scene—
All Wonders, Glories, Elements, and Powers,
Become the Vassals of its dreaming Hours!
And the Universe within our deep thought lives,
Robed in the splendour which that deep thought gives,
Etherialized into a World of Soul,
While yet the Spirit through whose regions roll,
Those Mighty Visions in their boundless Pride
Becomes as 'twere a Universe beside,—
And acts Creation to Itself—as though
Sun—Stars—Earth—Heaven—might be transmuted so!

Then 'tis that Angels stoop—or seem to stoop—
From yonder Heights, to form a radiant Groupe
Around the Slumberer's place—from realms above,
The Realms of Triumph, Rapture, Life, and Love—
Descending in their Beauty and their Might,
To Sun themselves within these Dreams of Light,
To hearken to these thoughts—whose deep, low song
Vies with the strain of the Celestial Throng—
And so their Heaven awhile they deign to find
Within the vast sphere of the Human Mind—
Within the precincts of a Mortal's thought,
With kindling ardour and strong fervour fraught—
Within the dreaming Spirit's glorious trance—
The Spirit bowed before their burning glance!—
And borne on its melodious thought's bright stream,
To find or form a Heav'n within a Dream!