I had awoke from an unpleasant dream, And light was welcome to me. I looked out To feel the common air, and when the breath Of the delicious morning met my brow, Cooling its fever, and the pleasant sun Shone on familiar objects, it was like The feeling of the captive who comes forth From darkness to the cheerful light of day. Oh! could we wake from sorrow! Were it all A troubled dream like this, to cast aside Like an untimely garment with the morn! Could the long fever of the heart be cooled By a sweet breath from nature, or the gloom Of a bereaved affection pass away With looking on the lively tint of flowers-- How lightly were the spirit reconciled To make this beautiful, bright world its home! SCRAPS FROM A JOURNAL. I. My heart is like a sleeping lake Which takes the hue of cloud and sky, And only feels its surface break When birds of passage wander by, Who dip their wings and upward soar, And leave it quiet as before. Thus change comes on me. If the light Of the gay sun is drank by clouds, And dulness sleeps upon the bright, Clear garniture whose greenness shrouds The naked nature; if the creep Of lazy rain-clouds tells alone Earth does not on its axle sleep, And winds go over with a moan Like birds wing-broken; if the sea Looks like an agitated pall, And sullied foam heaves mournfully, And pitches from the dull green wall Of waters; if the wild fowl rise From the cold ocean with a plash, And heavily wheel up the skies, As if they would forget the dash Of billows, and could pass away From earthly sorrows as from earth; If not one shorn, but sunny ray, Leaps out like a stray thought of mirth; If heaven looks sad, and seas look dull, And nature’s beauty is a blank-- I feel as if my heart were full Of waters from oblivion drank; For I forget, like flowers, the hue Of beauty, without sun and dew.