MY DREAM

« / send this to the best and kindest of Fathers », by Clarence, elder son of Sir Tollemache Sinclair. Last night as I lay in my snug little berth,

And sleeping as sound as could be, Methought that I saw him I most love on Earth

Appear in a vision to me.

Or rather I fancied (I then only dreamed)

That my tour round the world was completed. And that there I was standing, at least so it seemed,

Where the kindest of fathers was seated. Yes, there he was sitting, deep buried in thought,

Like sage Archimedes of old, Absorbed in reflection, nor caring for aught,

Save that which his pages unfold.

I entered in silence, he heard not a sound,

Abstractions his mind ne'er confuse.

His soul was ascending Parnassus's mound

And soaring with Poetry's muse.

His right hand was grasping a fine pointed pen,

A pencil was stuck through his beard, And his left hand was beating, but'twas only when

He in doubt was, for so it appeared.

His hair was dishevelled, his dress disarranged,

His eyes bright, his cheeks pale and thin. The look on his fine face was frequently changed

By various emotions within.

At length he leans backwards, his task is now done,

And his thoughts take a diffrent turn.

Does he think (I reflect) on his wand'ring son ?

Does he wish fortius speedy return ?

Does he long for my pi'esence, and sometimes feel lone?

Oh, how I've longed to be with him, To fly o'er the ocean, be once more at home.

Oh I horror, I heard him say rhythm ! 'Tis plain that his thoughts are engrossed by his book,

Yet no, as I listen I hear My name, o'er his kind face there steals a soft look.

In his eyes too there, glistens a tear. I call out « My father », he turns with a start,

He holds out his hands « My dear boy », In a second he presses me close to his heart,

And we mingle our tears with our joy.

There are moments of bliss on this sad changeful Earth

That make up for long days of woes ; They are few, it is true, and ephem'ral mirth

9qa *~ LARMES ET SOURIRES

Soon changes, some thorns has each rose. My rose had tliis thorn, as I happiest was,

For no man my equal did seem.

The ship gave a lurch, I awoke and alas,

I found it was only a dream.