Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 36, Page 802
IX.
DREAMS OF THE DEAD.
Oft in still night-dreams a departed face
Bends o'er me with sweet earnestness of eye,
Wearing no more of earthly pains a trace,
But all the tender pity that may lie
On the clear brow of Immortality;
Calm, yet profound—soft rays illume that mien,
The unshadowed moonlight of some far off sky
Around it floats, transparently serene,
As a pure veil of waters.—O rich sleep!
The spells are mighty in thy regions deep,
To glorify with reconciling breath,
Effacing, brightening; giving forth to shine
Beauty's high truth, and how much more divine
Thy power when linked in this with thy strong brother—Death!
