Poems (Charlotte Allen)/Soliloquy on Dreams
SOLILOQUY ON DREAMS.
'T was but a dream;I would there were no dreams, for 't is painfulWhen awaked, to find them mere delusion,After the senses have been revellingIn elysian scenes, where all seemed wrapt inSweet reality, a happy preludeTo more perfect bliss.Who hath not dreamed?And when the witching spell was broke thatBound the soul in its enchanting fettersSighed, nay, almost wept to find what looked soReal, was but illusion, cheating theMind's bright vision. Dreams are mental meteors,Of the fitful brain, flashing athwart itsEver busy surface, when reason sleeps.And is this wond'rous working of the mindInfluenced by external circumstance?When touched with Morpheus' wand, a change comesOver us, and we gently pass from coldReality, to the strange but pleasingPhantasies of ideality; andOfttimes, what most enchains the mind inWaking hours, leaves its lurking place when sleepApproaches, yielding its throne to scenes andBeings that we scarcely dared to think ofWhen awake, fearing to indulge the soulToo deeply in imagined pleasures, thatSober reason tells us, ne'er will occur,However much desired.However much desired.The intellectBrooks no control; free as the mountain air'T is ever on the wing, seeking somethingNew, felt, but undefined, as on it wendsIts trackless way, viewing with double kenThe airy phantoms, that in the mentalAtmosphere have their existence. Can mindBe chained? can we concentrate ideasInto one focus, and there confine them—To please our fancy? will they not escapeFrom thraldom, bidding defiance to ourFeeble efforts to restrain them? OfttimesWhen we deemed the roving thought was fairlyCaught and fastened, and we were preparedTo have a feast of thinking, a banquet ofThe soul, ere we could wink, 't was gone, flyingThrough boundless space. There are those who hold muchFaith in dreams, and deem them ominous ofGood or ill, according to the hue theyWear; for myself, I have no faith inAught on earth; and though I deal in flights ofFancy, and revel in ecstatic realmsOf fondest imagery, where airy spritesAnd fairy elves extend their witching charmsTo tempt us mortals from the plain pathwayOf real life, yet, I would not alwaysDwell 'mid those bright bowers, but inhaleThe changing elements of this world's facts:Bitter with the sweet, thorns with the flowers,And clouds and sunshine mingled with the showers.