The dream

'Twas in a meadow by the way,

Where on the hay I slumber'd,

A gentle dream upbore me where

Float angel hosts unnumber'd.

I waken'd, and with sigh profound,

Look'd sadly, vainly, all around;

Then came a song that way along,

A fair young minstrel singing;

And through the trees pass'd like a gleam,

While still the tones were ringing,

Ah! were they those which from my dream

Still to my soul were clinging?