Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/75



Agnes. Surely 'tis all a dream—a fever-dream! The desolation and the agony— The strange red sunrise—and the gloomy woods, So terrible with their dark giant boughs, And the broad lonely river! all a dream! And my boy's voice will wake me, with its clear, Wild, singing tones, as they were wont to come, Through the wreath'd sweet-brier at my lattice panes, In happy, happy England! Speak to me! Speak to thy mother, bright one! she hath watch'd