Volume 32 / Part 15 — THE LAND OF DREAMS.

BY WILLIAM C. BRYANT.

A mighty realm is the Land of Dreams, With steeps that hang in the twilight sky, And weltering oceans and trailing streams That gleam where the dusky valleys lie. But over its shadowy border flow Sweet rays from the world of endless morn, And the nearer mountains catch the glow, And flowers in the nearer fields are born. The souls of the happy dead repair, From their bowers of light, to that bordering land, And walk in the fainter glory there, With the souls of the living, hand in hand. One calm sweet smile in that shadowy sphere, From eyes that open on earth no more— One warning word from a voice once dear— How they rise in the memory o'er and o'er! Far off from those hills that shine with day, And fields that bloom in the heavenly gales, The Land of Dreams goes stretching away To dimmer mountains and darker vales. There lie the chambers of guilty delight, There walk the spectres of guilty fear, And soft low voices that float through the night Are whispering sin in the helpless ear. Dear maids, in thy girlhood's opening flower, Scarce weaned from the love of childish play! The tears on whose cheeks are but the shower That freshens the early blooms of May! Thine eyes are closed, and over thy brow Pass thoughtful shadows and joyous gleams, And I know, by the moving lips, that now Thy spirit strays in the Land of Dreams. Light-hearted maiden, oh, heed thy feet! Oh keep where that beam of Paradise falls; And only wander where thou may'st meet The blessed ones from its shining walls. So shalt thou come from the Land of Dreams, With love and peace, to this world of strife; And the light that over that border streams Shall lie on the path of thy daily life.