Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By Poems. II. A DreamBernard Barton (17841849)
A
To nightly slumber due;
It pictur’d forth no fairy bowers
To Fancy’s raptur’d view;
It had not much of marvels strange,
Nor aught of wild and frequent change:—
As now the page I trace
Is palpable to sight and touch;
Then how could doubt have place?
Yet was I not from doubt exempt,
But ask’d myself if still I dreamt.
Ev’n thus in dreams to meet,
Had much, too much of dearest bliss
Though not enough to cheat:
I knew the vision soon would fade,
And yet I bless’d it while it stay’d.
That earthly features wear;
Nor was it aught to fear or shun,
As fancied spectres are:
’Twas gentle, pure, and passionless,
Yet full of heavenly tenderness.
We were not long alone;
But many more were circling thee,
Whom thou on earth hadst known;
Who seem’d as greeting thy return
From some unknown, remote sojourn.
Whom on this earth we love;
I marvell’d much they could not see
Thou camest from above;
And often to myself I said,
“How can they thus approach the dead?”
Said, “Welcome!” o’er and o’er,
Still that expressive shade, or form,
Was silent, as before!
And yet its stillness never brought
To them one hesitating thought.
A being not of earth!
Yet had I not the power to exert
My voice to check their mirth;
For blameless mirth was theirs, to see,
Once more, a friend belov’d like thee.
Till tears, though not of grief,
Afforded, to that speechless mood,
A soothing, calm relief:
And, happier than if speech were free,
I stood, and watch’d thee silently!
I mus’d on days gone by,
Thou gav’st me one celestial smile—
One look that cannot die.
It was a moment worthy years!
I woke, and found myself in tears.