eet spring dew which harbingers the dawn,
When slumber's veil and visions are withdrawn;
When, crown'd with oriental gems, and bright
As newborn day, upon my tranced sight
My Lady lighted from her starry sphere:
With kind speech and soft sigh, her hand so dear.
So long desired in vain, to mine she press'd,
While heavenly sweetness instant warm'd my breast:
"Remember her, who, from the world apart,
Kept all your course since known to that young heart."
Pensive she spoke, with mild and modest air
Seating me by her, on a soft bank, where,
In greenest shade, the beech and laurel met.
"Remember? ah! how should I e'er forget?
Yet tell me, idol mine," in tears I said,
"Live you?--or dreamt I--is, is Laura dead?"
"Live I? I only live, but you indeed
Are dead, and must be, till the last best hour
Shall free you from the flesh and vile world's power.
But, our brief leisure lest desire exceed,
Turn we, ere breaks the day already nigh,
To themes of greater interest, pure and high."
Then I: "When ended the brief dream and vain
That men call life, by you now safely pass'd,
Is death indeed such punishment and pain?"
Replied she: "While on earth your lot is cast,
Slave to the world's opinions blind and hard,
True happiness shall ne'er your search reward;
Death to the good a dreary prison opes,
But to the vile and base, who all their hopes
And cares below have fix'd, is full of fear;
And this my loss, now mourn'd with many a tear,
Would seem a gain, and, knew you my delight
Boundless and pure, your joyful praise excite."
Thus spoke she, and on heaven her grateful eye
Devoutly fix'd, but while her rose-lips lie
Chain'd in cold silence, I renew'd my theme:
"Lightning and storm, red battle, age, disease,
Backs, prisons, poison, famine,--make not these
Death, even to the bravest, bitter seem?"
She answer'd: "I deny not that the strife
Is great and sore which waits on parting life,
And then of death eternal the sharp dread!
But if the soul with hope from heaven be fed,
And haply in itself the heart have grief,
What then is death? Its brief sigh brings relief:
Already I approach'd my final goal,
My strength was failing, on the wing my soul,
When thus a low sad-whisper by my side,
'O miserable! who, to vain life tied,
Counts every hou