Henry Alford

A Dream

The night that is now past hath been to me A time of wakeful, sleepful fancies: oft Have I been whirled aloft and rapt away By some fierce gale: oft in some garden--plot Laid, in the scent of woodbine and of lilac, While the laburnum hung its yellow locks Above me, prisoning in, with flowery chains, A slumbrous nook, aglow with golden light Before that night a weary time had past, A night of anxious thoughts and frequent prayers: And they have left their traces on my spirit, Now that pure calm hath come, and thankful joy. But most of all, one dream I will relate, Of import not obscure:--'tis a strange tale-- An errant, broken tale; and as the tale, The measure wanders. Listen: it ran thus. The Dream I. Light was upon the sea, The calm unbroken mirror Of the level sea: And ye might look around For many a league each way, And ye should see no moving thing, Nor object that had shape: But light upon the sea,-- The calm unbroken mirror Of the level sea. A dimple in the centre of the view: And then a spreading circle, One and then another, Onward, outward spreading: Even to the verge of heaven Do those circles calmly roll; And the sleeping light Is all disquieted, And leaps among the shining furrows Of the waveful sea. From the centre rising Is a pillar mist--enwrapt, A shining chrysalis Of some being beautiful; For, lo, the mist is clearing, And a perfect form Is hovering o'er the gently swelling waves; A perfect form, but small As is some fairy sprite Of mediaeval tales. II. The mighty sea again. And now the eastern sun Shone freshly on the water, That leapt and sparkled bright, As joyous for the sheen; Each wavelet had its crest Of dancing shivering foam; And far as ye might see Into the glowing south They chased each other merrily. Not as before, unbounded Was the gladsome sea: A shore with beetling cliffs Hung o'er the breaking spray, And pure white sands beneath Bordered a breezy bay; And sporting on those sands That same fair form I saw. Now would he lie and gaze Up to the deep--blue heaven; Now count the sparkling stones Within his infant reach; Now listen the curved shells Answering the ocean's roar; Now would he tempt those waters Unclothed and beautiful As is some ancient marble Of love's wingèd god, And float in ecstasy Over the floating waves, And let them bear him onward To the smooth sand's verge. III. I saw the sea again: But it was now once more The great unbounded ocean, But not mirror--calm, Nor in wavelets broken: It was in tumult dire Of angry tossing billows, Like unquiet monsters Rolling in their agony Over their watery couch. And ere I long had looked, Again appeared that form, Now stronger knit, and grown Even to years mature. His strength had trial sore; For in that plunge of waters A little boat he guided, Rowing with all his power, And guiding while he rowed. Loud creaked his burdened barque Not long: a crested billow Fell headlong, and the vessel Was seen no more; but him I saw with vigorous stroke Mounting the valley--sides Between the towering waves. IV. Still the cliff--bounded sea. And it was summer noon, And all the land was still; But on the water's face The merry breeze was playing, Whitening a chance wave here and there; And the dipping sea--birds Sported, and screamed around; And numberless white sails Spotted the pleasant water. It was a sight of joy, That made the bosom full. Anon a gay and gallant boat Flew by with canvas stretched And straining to the wind, Crushing each wave and making music harsh As on its way it sped. In it was that same form, The spectre of my dream, Now in mid years, and pale Methought, and over--watched; But he was not alone: A light and lovely shape Beside him sitting there Steered that his boat along. Right joyously she went, And merry was the sound Of voice, and voice replying, Just wafted to my ears As the trim vessel passed. V. 'Tis evening on the sea. The fiery orb of heaven Hath hid his last bright twinkle Under yon western line; And no star yet looks forth From the blank unvaried sky. Again 'tis breathless calm Upon the ocean's face; And the gray mournful light Lies still upon the water, Save where the cliff high--turreted Is imaged deep beneath. Among the rocks surf--whitened, Sitting, or wandering slow, Was that same form again, Alone, and sorrow--marked; His eye was lustreless, And ever and anon He raised his hands aloft, And spoke to one above him; But, as it seemed, none heard, For still he wandered sad, And I could see the tears Spring from his brimming eyes, And fall upon those rocks. And once again he looked Into the fading sky, Where one scarce--visible star Had lit its twinkling lamp; Which when he saw, he smiled, And a more copious flood Of tears rained down his cheek; Till on those barren stones, For very weariness of grief, He laid him down to die. VI. It was the noon of night. Upon the ocean's breast The vast concave of heaven Was downward imaged, bright With throbbing stars: no rest The roving eye might find; Horizon there was none, But vast infinitude Spread over and below. Down from the upper air Self--poised a pillar glided, Such as I saw erewhile, But dark and mournful all: Then first was manifest The polished ocean--surface; For into its calm breast Passed this array of woe; And I could see, as slow It sunk, that same appearance, But in a dismal garb Of death--array. The sea Closed over without noise. My dream was done. But as I woke, clear sounds As of celestial music were around me; And spite of that last scene of death and woe, My spirit was all--joyous; and the day Throughout, some voice was sounding in my ear, ``He is not here, but risen!'' My dream was, Life!