Eoline’s Dream
One long day of toil was ending,
And my head was hot with pain
When a thought, akin to envy,
Racing thro’ my throbbing brain,
Muttered to my fevered fancy
“Only wealth has power to please—
Rocking in the lap of riches
Life were fair as summer seas.”
Wealth for me would bridge the ocean,
Open Europe’s storied lore,
Rome and Greece, with art and beauty,
Each would open wide her door;
These my hungering soul had longed for—
Oft they seemed within my clasp,
But like gold beneath the rainbow
They escaped my eager grasp.
How I spurned the homely hangings
That in poverty were wrought,
E’en the couch, whose dingy plushings
Now in weariness I sought.
“Common things,” I said, repining,
“Ne’er for me can blessing hold”;
But the Sun, just then declining,
Flooded all with molten gold.
And a benison, descending
On the wings of closing day,
Soothed and hushed my wild complaining—
Drove the evil sprite away—
Brought before me my possessions,
Richest in the long array,
Wealth of home, where all my dear ones
Make it bright with love, alway.
Lightly drooped the shining fringes
Of the evening’s twilight hour,
While the playful, roving zephyr
Gently kissed each folding flower;
Softly gliding into dreamland
On the sunset’s gilded car,
Soon for me, his golden splendor
Wrapped all objects, near and far.
In his grand effulgent shimmer
“Common things,” grew strangely bright;
And my home became a palace
All resplendent in the light;
E’en the russet garb of labor,
If unstained by deed of shame,
There outshone imperial purple,
With its throne and titled name.
Sweeter than the grand exotics,
Were my lillies, pure and white—
All was beauty—all about me
Whispered to me—“Life is bright,”
And its sweetest flowers are blooming
In the toil-worn paths of earth,
And its purest gems will sparkle
On the brow of honest worth.
Diamonds, oft, are but the tear-drops
Avarice wrings from orphaned trust,
And his gorgeous, gilded trappings
Steal their hues from hearts he’s crushed.
More I saw in raptured dreaming—
Seraphs holding crowns of gold,
Beckoning up the shining pathway
Where the gates of Rest unfold.
Some whose wealth did bow them earthward
Sought for this to enter in,
Others, wearing robes of priesthood,
Thought that these absolved from sin;
But no easier passed the portal,
Those in purple, cowl, or gown;—
He who bore life’s burden’s bravely,
Won the race and wore the crown.
Then a touch of dimpled fingers
Woke my heart with mother-joy—
Golden head upon my bosom—
Tired, sleepy, baby boy
Poured a wealth of love and kisses
On the lips that had complained.
He (sweet angel!—God had sent him)
Quick the demon, Envy, chained.