DISILLUSION.

AS in the wastes of arctic snow

The seaman's eyes, when slumber-sealed,

See in a mocking dream revealed

His land - his home - in summer glow;

But ere he speaks the tender words

That from his lips unbidden start,

Or clasps his loved ones, heart to heart,

He wakes to look on glassy fjords,

And fields of ice that coldly glare

Beneath the flushing northern light,

Whose crimson beacons of the night

Show only desolation there;

So I, in rough and cheerless ways,

By fate confined with harsh decree,

Have dreamt an idle fantasy

Of love, and thought him face to face.

Then darkness died before mine eyes,

The coldness and the chill were gone,

The spectral lights, the midnight sun,

Were banished in that sweet sunrise.

But ere my eager lips could speak

The tender words they longed to say,

I woke to see the dream-born day

Fade into darkness dull and bleak.

C. T. D.