CHAPTER X.
Ah! waking dreams, that mock the day,
Have other ends than those
That come beneath the moonlight ray
And charm the eyes they close.
The vision, colouring the night,
'Mid bloom and brightness wakes,
Banished by morning's cheerful light.
Which brightens what it breaks.
But dreams, which fill the waking eye
With deeper spells than sleep,
When hours unnumbered pass us by;
From such we wake and weep.
We wake, but not to sleep again,
The heart has lost its youth;
The morning light that wakes us then,
Cold, calm, and stern, is truth.
Norbourne was amply repaid for giving up his gallop over the hills, by the curious study which his uncle presented. He was astonished at the facility with which Lord
