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Thou'st been asleep, and scarcely yet art waking, Thy fancy is still busied with its dream.

It was no dream: upon that spot it stood; I saw it,—saw it for a lengthen'd time,— Saw it distinctively.

Whom didst thou see? No living creature could have enter'd here.

O would that it had been a living creature! Her beauty was the beauty of a corse Newly composed in death; yet her dark eyes Were open, gazing wistfully upon me.

Thou hast seen Emma Graham!

Is Malcolm here? I am confused,—bewilder'd; I know not what I've seen, or what I've said: Perhaps it was a dream.

It was no dream; Or if it was, 't was one of sad import. Oh, if it be!there is distraction in it. (Tossing his arms, &c.)