Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/265

 the flowers is hung the sparkling dew—

I look abroad—the passing and the past

Hours of existence I retrace anew,

And waft deep sighs across the barren waste.

gloomy fate o'ershades me—heaviness

Weighs down my heart, and sorrow flows in tears,

And fear outpours its vials of distress—

And yet I know no cause of guilt—or fears.

no concience-smitings; but I see

Where'er I turn, the selfsame piercing eye—

Once, only once I looked on steadily,

Then turn'd me from the shade that flitted by.

golden dream—come cradle in thy arms.

My overburden'd heart, and kindly keep

My soul from all these makings—these alarms;

Come golden dream—come tranquillizing sleep.

" not back, sweet maid! for many a night—

Yes! many a night these dreams shall visit thee!

Shapes round thy windows flit at morning light—

Give him thy sighs—and love thy prize shall be."