THE LADY'S DREAM. THE lady lay in her bed, Her couch so warm and soft, But her sleep was restless and broken still; From side to side, she mutter'd and moan'd, At last she startled up, And gazed on the vacant air, With a look of awe, as if she saw Some dreadful phantom there- And then in the pillow she buried her face The very curtain shook, Her terror was so extreme; And the light that fell on the broider'd quilt, Kept a tremulous gleam; And her voice was hollow, and shook as she cried : "Oh me! that awful dream! "That weary, weary walk, In the churchyard's dismal ground! And those horrible things, with shady wings, That came and flitted round,— Death, death, and nothing but death, In every sight and sound! "And oh! those maidens young, Who wrought in that dreary room, With figures drooping and spectres thin, [pride, And the Voice that cried, 'For the pomp of We haste to an early tomb! "For the pomp and pleasure of Pride, We toil like Afric slaves, And only to earn a home at last, "And still the coffins came, With their sorrowful trains and slow; Coffin after coffin still, A sad and sickening show; From grief exempt, I never had dreamt “Of the hearts that daily break, Of the tears that hourly fall, Of the many, many troubles of life, That grieve this earthly ball— Disease and Hunger, and Pain, and Want, But now I dreamt of them all! "For the blind and the cripple were there, The naked, alas, that I might have clad, "The sorrow I might have soothed, For many a thronging shape was there, "Each pleading look, that long ago As when I pass'd it by: Woe, woe for me if the past should be "No need of sulphureous lake, No need of fiery coal, But only that crowd of human kind Who wanted pity and dole In everlasting retrospect Will wring my sinful soul! "Alas! I have walk'd through life Too heedless where I trod; Nay, helping to trample my fellow worm, Forgetting that even the sparrow falls "I drank the richest draughts; Fish, and flesh, and fowl, and fruit, But I never remember'd the wretched ones "I dress'd as the noble dress, In cloth of silver and gold, With silk, and satin, and costly furs, But I never remember'd the naked limbs "The wounds I might have heal'd! But evil is wrought by want of Thought, |