EVENING THOUGHTS.
77
| Traveller. |
| Oh rather, father, let me ask of thee |
| What is it I do seek, what thing I lack? |
| These many days I've left my father's hall, |
| Forth driven by insatiable desire, |
| That, like the wind, now gently murmuring, |
| Enticed me forward with its own sweet voice |
| Through many-leaved woods, and valleys deep, |
| Yet ever fled before me. Then with sound |
| Stronger than hurrying tempest, seizing me, |
| Forced me to fly its power. Forward still, |
| Bound by enchanted ties, I seek its source. |
| Sometimes it is a something I have lost, |
| Known long since, before I bent my steps |
| Toward this beautiful broad plane of earth. |
| Sometimes it is a spirit yet unknown, |
| In whose dim-imaged features seem to smile |
| The dear delight of these high-mansioned thoughts, |
| That sometimes visit me. Like unto mine |
| Her lineaments appear, but beautiful, |
| As of a sister in a far-off world, |
| Waiting to welcome me. And when I think |
| To reach and clasp the figure, it is gone, |
| And some ill-omened ghastly vision comes |
| To bid beware, and not too curiously |
| Demand the secrets of that distant world, |
| Whose shadow haunts me. — On the waves below |
| But now I gazed, warmed with the setting sun, |
| Who sent his golden streamers to my feet, |
| It seemed a pathway to a world beyond, |
| And I looked round, if that my spirit beckoned |
| That I might follow it. |
| Solitary. |
| Dreams all, my son. Yes, even so I dreamed, |
