T that still, calm, and awful hour, When sleep with all her silent power, Sheds sweet forgetfulness and rest O'er many a glad or aching breast; When mimic scenes of joy or pain Sweep swiftly o'er the slumbering brain, Illumed by Fancy's vivid beam, I dreamt (alas! 'twas but a dream!) That o'er a path, unknown, untried, I slowly wandered by thy side; And though for long our footsteps trod The mountain heath, the verdant sod, Or wound along some mossy dell, No weariness I seemed to feel: For as in many a long past day, Thy converse sweet beguiled the way, Till hill, and vale, and streamlet past, We reached the mountain height at last. There, bathed in evening's golden ray, A lovely land before us lay; It seemed a calm and beauteous spot, Where care and pain might be forgot, And worn out heart, or weary breast, At last find happiness and rest. But, lo! across our onward path A river dashed in foaming wrath, And rushed along with deafening roar Between us and the lovely shore. We paused: across the torrent flung, A light and trembling structure hung. Though based upon the solid shore, It seemed to tremble at the roar Of every billow tipped with snow, Which rushed along the rocks below! I stood entranced, with awe-struck ear, That music of the waves to hear, Then gazed upon that watery grave— The bridge which trembled o'er the wave,— And eager still to reach that shore, I could not, dare not, venture o'er! 'Twas then that thy sweet voice of peace, Assuring, bade my terrors cease, And asked, "Would I now turn and flee, Nor strive to stem the tide with thee?" With thee? Oh, what would I not dare, Thy lot on earth in heaven to share! I paused no longer,—side by side, We feared no more the foaming tide: And though the waters raged around, Till earth seemed trembling at the sound, We passed that torrent hand in hand, And safely reached that lovely land Where we could gaze on dangers past, And calm delights now reached at last.
Morn came,—that blissful dream was gone. I woke once more, and all was flown; But oft that fiction of the brain Has come to bless my sight again, And oft I've thought how sweet 'twould be To wander through this world with thee; Not o'er its paths of false delight, Where joy and mirth may greet the sight, Yet turn to sorrow in the grasp Which strives their fading forms to clasp; But o'er that bright though narrow way, Where joys are found which ne'er decay, With thee to roam, and by thy side To stem life's dark and stormy tide; Together every ill to bear, Together joy and sorrow share, And reach at eve that peaceful shore, Where all shall toil and weep no more.
T that still, calm, and awful hour,
T that still, calm, and awful hour,