A REVERIE.
Not from fancy's land of wonders
Come the dreams that haunt my brain,
But from out the past's dim chambers
Glide anon the shadowy train.
On each pale and solemn visage
Is some old remembrance prest,
Some old memory that hath lingered
Ever fadeless in my breast.
And as troop on troop of visions
Through thought's silent halls defile,
Like the ancient ghosts that wander
Through some lone cathedral aisle,
New-born fancies mix and mingle
With the old familiar throng,
And the Past and Present meeting,
Form the river-tide of song.
Dreams of present have no power,
And no grandeur like the past;
Glory borrows its enchantment
From the distance it is cast;
But the present is the wizard
That can break oblivion's seal,
And the "dead past's dead" unburied,
By a magic word reveal.
Life has many hidden currents,
Like the cave-streams of the earth,
Flowing deep and strong in secret,
Ne'er betraying bourne or birth;
But the flood in darkness wandering
With no flower upon its way,
Has its course 'mong richer treasures
Than have met the blaze of day.
