Near Somnus sits Morpheus, one of his many sons, who watches over his slumbers and sees that no one shall break in upon his sleep. This god holds a vase in one hand, and with the other he shakes the nodding poppies that bring drowsiness and sleep. Sometimes he assumes varied forms in which he appears to men at night, and always he flies through the darkness with wings that make no noise. Around the couch of Somnus hover shadowy forms, the Dreams,[44] which are as numerous as the forest leaves or the sands upon the seashore. In a distant corner of the room lurk the horrid Nightmares, which creep out of the cave to visit sleeping mortals, but are never led to earth by Mercury, as are the welcomed Dreams. Two gates lead out of the valley of sleep, one of horn and one of ivory. "Of dreams, O stranger, some are meaningless And idle, and can never be fulfilled. Two portals are there for their shadowy shapes, Of ivory one, and one of horn. The dreams That come through the carved ivory deceive With promises that never are made good; But those which pass the doors of polished horn, And are beheld of men, are ever true." --BRYANT'S Homer's _Odyssey_, Book XIX, line 679. "Sunt geminæ Somni portæ, quarumaltera fertur Cornea, qua veris facilis datur exitus Umbris; Altera candenti perfecta nitens elephanto, Sed falsa ad cælum mittunt insomnia Manes."[45] --VIRGIL, _Æneid_, Book VI, line 893. Mors, god of death, occupies one of the rooms in the cave of sleep. He is a fearful-looking deity, cadaverous as a skeleton, and wrapped in a winding sheet. He holds an hourglass in one hand, and a sharp scythe in the other; and stands watching the sand run out of his glass that he may know when a human life is nearing its end. Then, as the last grains fall, he glides from the valley of sleep and stalks silently and unseen upon the earth, where he cuts down the unhappy mortal, who cannot even hear the rustle of his garments as he approaches. It is nothing to him whether the life he takes belongs to childhood or youth, for he mows them down as relentlessly as he does tottering old age. And to the rich he is as unsparing as to the poor. "Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas regumque turres."[46] --HORACE, _Carminum_, Book I, § IV, line 13.