My long-past faith and inspiration,

And the tears and life and love.

Poems Translated by Charles Edward Turner and George Borrow THE DREAMER.

The moon pursues her stealthy course,

The shades grow gray upon the hill,

Silence has fallen on the stream,

Fresh from the valley blows the wind;

The songster of spring days has hushed

His notes in waste of gloomy groves,

The herds are couched along the fields,

And calm the flight of midnight hour.

And night the peaceful ingle-nook

Has with her misty livery clad;

In stove the flames have ceased to dart,

And candle down to socket burned;

The saintly face of household gods

Now darkly gloom from modest shrine,

And taper pale in dimness burns

Before the guardians of home.

With head in hand bent lowly down,

In sweet forgetfulness deep plunged,

I lose myself in fancy dreams,

And lie awake on lonely couch;

As with the weird dark shades of night,

Illumined by the soft moon's rays,

Winged dreams, in hurrying crowds,

Flock down and strongly seize my soul.

And now flows forth a soft, soft voice,

The golden chords in music tremble;

And in the hour when all is still,

The dreamer young begins his song,

With secret ache of soul possessed