Mary’s Dream.
By Alexander Lowe.
The moon had climb’d the highest hill
That rises o’er the source of Dee,
And from the eastern summit shed
Her silver light on tower and tree,
When Mary laid her down to sleep—
Her thoughts on Sandy, far at sea,
Then soft and low a voice was heard,
Saying, “Mary, weep no more for me.”
She from her pillow gently rais’d
Her head, to ask who there might be,
And saw young Sandy shiv’ring stand,
With pallid cheek and hollow eye—
“O Mary dear! cold is my clay,
It lies beneath a stormy sea;
Far, far from thee I sleep in death,
So, Mary, weep no more for me!
“Three stormy nights and stormy days
We toss’d upon the raging main,
And long we strove our bark to save,
But all our striving was in vain:
Even then, when horror clill’d my blood,
My heart was fill’d with love to thee;
The storm is past, and I at rest,
So, Mary, weep no more for me!
“O madien dear! thyself prepare,
We soon shall meet upon that shore
Where Love is free from doubt or care,
And thou and I shall part no more.”
Loud crow’d the cock, the shadow fled,
No more of Sandy could she see;
But soft the passing spirit said,
“O Mary, weep no more for me!”
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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