the power, for the weight of twenty Atlantics was upon me, or the
oppression of inexpiable guilt. "Deeper than ever plummet sounded," I
lay inactive. Then like a chorus the passion deepened. Some greater
interest was at stake, some mightier cause than ever yet the sword had
pleaded or trumpet had proclaimed. Then came sudden alarms; hurryings to
and fro; trepidations of innumerable fugitives, I knew not whether from
the good cause or the bad; darkness and lights; tempest and human faces;
and at last, with the sense that all was lost, female forms, and the
features that were worth all the world to me; and but a moment
allowed--and clasped hands, with heart-breaking partings, and
then--everlasting farewells! and with a sigh such as the caves of hell
sighed when the incestuous mother uttered the abhorred name of Death,
the sound was reverberated--everlasting farewells! and again, and yet
again reverberated--everlasting farewells!

And I awoke in struggles, and cried aloud, "I will sleep no more!"

THE DEAD SISTER

From 'Confessions of an English Opium-Eater'

On the day after my sister's death, whilst the sweet temple of her brain
was yet unviolated by human scrutiny, I formed my own scheme for seeing
her once more. Not for the world would I have made this known, nor have
suffered a witness to accompany me. I had never heard of feelings that
take the name of "sentimental," nor dreamed of such a possibility. But
grief even in a child hates the light, and shrinks from human eyes. The
house was large, there were two staircases; and by one of these I knew
that about noon, when all would be quiet, I could steal up into her
chamber. I imagine that it was exactly high noon when I reached the
chamber door; it was locked, but the key was not taken away. Entering, I
closed the door so softly that although it opened upon a hall which
ascended through all the stories, no echo ran along the silent walls.
Then turning around, I sought my sister's face. But the bed had been
moved, and the back was now turned. Nothing met my eyes but one large
window wide open, through which the sun of midsummer at noonday was
showering down torrents of splendor. The weather was dry, the sky was
cloudless, the blue depths seemed the express types of infinity; and it
was not possible for eye to behold or for heart to conceive any symbols
more pathetic of life and the glory of life.

Let me pause for one instant in approaching a remembrance so a