OCCASIONAL POEMS. 601 



For it is not all a fancy that our lives and theirs are one, 

 And we know that all we see is but an endless work begun. 

 Part is left in Nature's keeping, part is entered into rest, 

 Part remains to grow and ripen, hidden in some living breast. 

 What is ours we know not, either when we wake or when 



we sleep, 

 But we know that Love and Honour, day and night, are ours 



to keep. 

 What though Dreams be wandering fancies, by some lawless 



force entwined, 

 Empty bubbles, floating upwards through the current of the 



mind ? 

 There are powers and thoughts within us, that we know not, 



till they rise 

 Through the stream of conscious action from where Self in 



secret lies. 

 But when Will and Sense are silent, by the thoughts that 



come and go, 

 We may trace the rocks and eddies in the hidden depths 



below. 



Let me dream my dream till morning ; let my mind run slow 



and clear, 

 Free from all the world's distraction, feeling that the Dead 



are near, 

 Let me wake, and see my duty lie before me straight and 



plain. 

 Let me rise refreshed, and ready to begin my work again. 



To THE Am OF " LORELEI." 



Aberdeen t January 1858. 

 I. 



ALONE on a hillside of heather, 



I lay with dark thoughts in my mind, 



In the midst of the beautiful weather 

 I was deaf, I was dumb, I was blind. 



