The Literary Gazette, 31st March 1827, page 204
ORIGINAL POETRY.
THE SPIRIT OF DREAMS.
Spirit of the midnight dream,
What is now upon thy wing?
Earth sleeps in the moonlight beam;
O'er that sleep what wilt thou fling?
Many a vain and shadowy thought,
All of daylight's hope and fear,
Mind's strange workings, have I brought
On the sleeper's eye and ear.
There were some who prayed me give
Respite short from grief and pain;
Some few who but sought to live
Pleasure's fleeting hour again.
Past I o'er a purple tent,
Down and odours wooed my stay;
But remorse and hate were sent—
Guards to banish me away.
Reached I next a lonely tower,
Pale, like him, a lamp burnt there,
While its master past the hour
O'er his scroll of learned care.
Marvelled I that he should spend
Thus the hours of my sweet reign;
When his labours find their end,
He will find, too, they were vain.
Tears were in the soft dark eyes
Where I once had loved to rest;
Love had banished me, and sighs
Told he was less quiet guest.
