TWENTY YEARS AGO. 271 



quietly down : — it is at this time delicious to muse over the works 

 of our best bards. Some time last year, I had roamed in an evening 

 like to one of those I have spoken of; and, after dwelling on the 

 fairy beauties of Spenser, and from thence passing to the poets of 

 my own time, and comparing the latter with some that had 

 gone before, I cast myself on a romantic bank by a brook side. 

 The silence around me, save the home returning bee with its 

 " drowsy hum," and the moaning sound of distant cattle, and the 

 low, sullen gurgling of waters — lulled me into sleep. The light 

 of my thoughts gilded my dream ; — my vision was a proof of 

 mental existence when the bodily sense had passed away. I have 

 a great desire to attempt giving publicity to my dream, but I 

 have before told you how limited are my powers of expression ; — 

 so I must rely upon your goodness, in receiving the crude des- 

 cription, or not. 



Methought — (this, I believe, is the established language of 

 dreams) — methought I was walking idly along a romantic vale, 

 which was surrounded with majestic and rugged mountains; a 

 small stream struggled through it, and its waves seemed the 

 brightest crystal I had ever witnessed. I sat me down on its 

 margin, which was rocky and beautiful (so far my vision was 

 copied directly from life). As I mused, a female figure rose like 

 a silvery mist from the waters, and advanced, with a countenance 

 full of light, and a form of living air : her garments floated round 

 her like waves, and her hair basked on her shoulders — 



** Like sunny beams on alabaster rocks." 



There was a touch of immortality in her eyes, — and, indeed, her 

 visage altogether was animated with a more than earthly glory* 

 She approached me with smiles, and told me she was the guardian 

 of the stream that flowed near, and that the stream itself was the 

 true Castalla?i, which so many ^'rave of, though they know it 

 not.'" I turned with fresh delight to gaze on the water; its music 

 sounded heavenly to me, I fancied that there was a pleasant dac- 

 tylic motion in its waves. The spirit said, that from the love I 

 bore to her favorite, Spenser, she would permit me to see (myself 

 unseen) the annual procession of living bards to fetch water from 

 the stream on that day : — I looked her my thanks as well as I 

 was able ; it was out of my power to express them ; so you see 

 my old complaint did not forsake me even on the brink of immor- 

 tality. She likewise informed me, that it was customary for each 

 Poet, as he received his pprtion, to say in what manner he 

 intended to use it. The voice of the Spirit was such as fancy 



