University of Virginia Library

'Twas midnight, and the lulling hour,
Threw o'er my heart its drowsy power.
My fire and lamp in languor vied,—
In fitful snatches blazed and died.
At length their gasping life was closed,
And all my sense in slumber dozed.
Yet still awake the winged thought,
In busy visions wildly wrought:
Now fancy's frost-work scenes were reared,
Dazzled and shone, and disappeared;
Now sable truth, by fiction led,
Alternate marched, and danced, and fled.

Deeper at length my slumbers grew,
And fairer visions came to view.
Borne as on beams of liquid gold,
A maiden came, of fairy mould:
Her parted locks of auburn hair,
Displayed a forehead high and fair.
Beside her cheek the rainbow's red,
The damask of the rose, were dead;
And lovelier was her flashing eye,
Than all the blue of April's sky.
A robe of mountain azure wound
Its pearly folds her form around:
And on her waist in beauty gleams,
A woven zone of morning beams.
A being of another sphere,
She stands confessed—what doth she here?

“Though bright and favored I may be,
I come to crave a boon of thee—
From yonder dim and distant sphere,
In search of truth I wander here.
I marked this dark and erring star,
From worlds which roll so faint and far,
And on the lightning wing of thought,
Through trackless space my journey wrought.
I've heard that o'er this varied earth
A being dwells of heavenly birth—
Condemned, a ‘mortal coil’ to wear,
Till partial death the veil shall tear.
Say, is it so? Then lead my sight
To see this heir of life and light.
Where doth he dwell? I've sought in vain
Wide east and west, o'er land and main.
I've marked the insect of a day—
The vocal bird with plumage gay,
The gazing brute, and man beside,
With all his ignorance and pride.
And these befit your balmy air,
Thy glorious sun, these landscapes fair—
But tell me, which among them all,
Aspires beyond this earthly ball?
Doth Man immortal wishes weave?
Nay, to this earth his heart-strings cleave!
E'en while he talks of holier joys,
He closer hugs his earthly toys.
In every clime I've read his race,
In every bosom folly trace.
The humble cot, the royal hall,
The hermit's roof, the noble's wall—
The city wide—which e'er I scan,
Shows the same bubble-chasing man!
Say not I feel unrighteous sway—
I do but strip disguise away.
I've seen the monk with saintly air,
On bended knee, in seeming prayer,—
While every thought was bent to win,
A holy name to shelter sin.
I've seen the man who talked of heaven,
While yet his heart to earth was given—
Who, saying all below was vain,
Strove night and day for worldly gain.
I've seen the priest, who told of hell
For drunkards made, and fiends that fell,
Go from the desk and steep his soul,
Deep in the pleasures of the bowl!
I've seen—but why these pictures rear?
Man—earth-born man, is wedded here.
Here of this clay his form is made,
Here his fond hopes, his joys, are stayed.
Born of the earth, he breathes its air,
Its pleasure seeks, partakes its care,
Drinks of its streams, devours its fruit,
And moulders like his fellow brute!”

The maiden paused—her keen, fixed eye,
And solemn air, claimed quick reply.
With trembling heart and troubled thought,
For fitting speech I anxious sought;
But e'er the ardent word was spoke,
The all truth-seeming vision broke;
The radiant spirit fled away,
And I awoke to muse and pray—
To pray, if such our seeming life,
That heaven would aid us in the strife,
To burst those cruel chains that bind,
To this poor sphere, the immortal mind;
Which link to bubbles and to toys,
Our hopes, our wishes, and our joys;
And fain would make the heart forego,
For this sad world of toil and woe,
That nobler heritage of love,
Which waits for man, with God above!