had better sleep,
though I had no bedding, to pass the time away till morning. I coiled
myself up under a bush and fell into one of those extraordinary waking
dreams which occasionally descend upon imaginative mortals, when we
know that we are alive, and yet we think we are dead; when a confused
jumble of ideas sets the mind "peering back into the vistas of the
memories of yore," and yet also foreshadowing the images of future
things upon the quivering curtains of the mental eye. At such a time
the imagination can revel only in the marvellous, the mysterious, and
the mythical. The forms of those we love are idealised and
spiritualised into angelic shapes. The faces of those we have
forgotten long, or else perchance have lost, once more return,
seraphic from the realms of light. The lovely forms and winning graces
of children gone, the witching eyes and alluring smiles of women we
have loved, the beautiful countenances of beloved and admired youth,
once more we seem to see; the youthful hands we have clasped so often
in love and friendship in our own, once more we seem to press,
unchanged by time, unchanged by fate, beckoning to us lovingly to
follow them, still trying with loving caress and youthful smiles to
lead us to their shadowy world beyond. O youth, beautiful and undying,
the sage's dream, the poet's song, all that is loving and lovely, is
centred still in thee! O lovely youth, with thine arrowy form, and
slender hands, thy pearly teeth, and saintly smile, thy pleading eyes
and radiant hair; all, all must worship thee. And if in waking hours
and daily toil we cannot always greet thee, yet in our dreams you are
our own. As the poet says:--

"In dreams you come as things of light and lightness!
We hear your voice in still small accents tell,
Of realms of bliss and never-fading brightness,
Where those who loved on earth together dwell."

Then, while lying asleep, engrossed by these mysterious influences and
impressions, I thought I heard celestial sounds upon mine ear;
vibrating music's rapturous strain, as though an heavenly choir were
near, dispensing melody and pain. As though some angels swept the
strings, of harps ethereal o'er me hung, and fann'd me, as with
seraph's wings, while thus the voices sweetly sung: "Be bold of heart,
be strong of will, for unto thee by God is given, to roam the desert
paths of earth, and thence explore the fields of heaven. Be bold of
heart, be strong of will, and