IV. THE WAKING.

Over his head the chafer hummeth, Under his feet shut daisies bend: Waken, man! the enemy cometh, Thy neighbor, counted so long a friend.

He cannot waken—and firm, and steady, The enemy comes with lowering brow; He looks for war, his heart is ready, His thoughts are bitter—he will not bow.

He fronts the seat,—the dream is flinging A spell that his footsteps may not break,— But one in the garden of hops is singing— The dreamer hears it, and starts awake.