THE SICK GIRL'S DREAM.

I heard the other night in dreams The early robin sing: The southern winds unlocked the streams, And warmed the heart of Spring.

The plum-trees wore their bridal dress, The willows donned their plumes, And to the zephyr's fond caress Gave forth their rare perfumes.

Through months of wintry frost and storm— Yet never harmed by them— A million germs had nestled warm, Close to the parent stem.

The happy spring-time broke their rest, They drank the morning dew, They clasped the sunbeams to their breast, And clothed the trees anew.

The clouds distilled the fertile rain And sent it forth in showers; The sunlight danced along the plain And painted it with flowers.

The butterfly went forth to play, The useful honey bee Kept up a hunt through all the day. Of cheerful industry.

The squirrel gamboled in the grove, The rabbit bounded by, The wary spider spun and wove, And trapped the careless fly.

From out the joyous, vocal wood The song of warblers came: The cuckoo, in a merry mood, Told and re-told its name.

And when behind the purple hill The sun went out of sight, The frogs began with hearty will Their concert for the night.

Such scenes had made, in brighter years, My heart with transport leap, But now they touched the spring of tears,— I sobbed aloud in sleep.

And is there not some balm, I cried, 'Mid nature's boundless wealth? "Behold"—a gentle voice replied— "Behold the Fount of health!"

Just then a torrent met my eye, Fresh from the rock it burst; I could have drained the fountain dry, So raging was my thirst.

Such deep emotions filled my soul I woke—the vision fled: The moonbeams through the curtain stole, Ah! 'twas a dream, I said.

But well I know there is a land Where flows the living stream; And when upon its banks I stand, Oh, then 'twill be no dream.