LXXV.

At length she said, that in a slumber sound

She dream'd a dream, of walking in a woodA "wood obscure," like that where Dante found (1) Himself in at the age when all grow good;

Life's half-way house, where dames with virtue crown'd

Run much less risk of lovers turning rude; And that this wood was full of pleasant fruits, And trees of goodly growth and spreading roots;

LXXVI.

And in the midst a golden apple grew,-
A most prodigious pippin-but it hung
Rather too high and distant; that she threw
Her glances on it, and then, longing, flung
Stones and whatever she could pick up, to

Bring down the fruit, which still perversely clung
To its own bough, and dangled yet in sight,
But always at a most provoking height;-

LXXVII.

That on a sudden, when she least had hope,

It fell down of its own accord before
Her feet; that her first movement was to stoop
And pick it up, and bite it to the core;
That just as her young lip began to ope
Upon the golden fruit the vision bore,

A bee flew out and stung her to the heart,
And so she awoke with a great scream and start

(1) "Nell' mezzo del' cammin' di nostra vita

Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura," &c.— Inferno.

LXXVIII.

All this she told with some confusion and
Dismay, the usual consequence of dreams
Of the unpleasant kind, with none at hand
To expound their vain and visionary gleams.
I've known some odd ones which seem'd really plann'd
Prophetically, or that which one deems

66

A❝ strange coincidence," to use a phrase

By which such things are settled now-a-days. (4)

LXXIX.

The damsels, who had thoughts of some great harm, Began, as is the consequence of fear,

To scold a little at the false alarm

That broke for nothing on their sleeping ear. The matron, too, was wroth to leave her warm

Bed for the dream she had been obliged to hear, And chafed at poor Dudù, who only sigh'd, And said, that she was sorry she had cried.

LXXX.

"I've heard of stories of a cock and bull; But visions of an apple and a bee,

To take us from our natural rest, and pull

The whole Oda from their beds at half-past three, Would make us think the moon is at its full.

You surely are unwell, child! we must see, To-morrow, what his Highness's physician Will say to this hysteric of a vision.

(1) [One of the advocates employed for Queen Caroline in the House of Lords spoke of some of the most puzzling passages in the history of her intercourse with Bergami, as amounting to "odd instances of strange coincidence."]

LXXXI.

"And poor Juanna, too, the child's first night
Within these walls, to be broke in upon
With such a clamour-I had thought it right
That the young stranger should not lie alone,
And, as the quietest of all, she might

With you, Dudu, a good night's rest have known;
But now I must transfer her to the charge
Of Lolah-though her couch is not so large."

LXXXII.

Lolah's eyes sparkled at the proposition;

But poor Dudù, with large drops in her own, Resulting from the scolding or the vision,

Implored that present pardon might be shown For this first fault, and that on no condition

(She added in a soft and piteous tone) Juanna should be taken from her, and Her future dreams should all be kept in hand.

LXXXIII.

She promised never more to have a dream,
At least to dream so loudly as just now;
She wonder'd at herself how she could scream-
'Twas foolish, nervous, as she must allow,

A fond hallucination, and a theme

For laughter-but she felt her spirits low,

And begg'd they would excuse her; she'd get over This weakness in a few hours, and recover.

LXXXIV.

And here Juanna kindly interposed,

And said she felt herself extremely well Where she then was, as her sound sleep disclosed When all around rang like a tocsin bell: She did not find herself the least disposed To quit her gentle partner, and to dwell Apart from one who had no sin to show Save that of dreaming once" mal-à-propos."

LXXXV.

As thus Juanna spoke, Dudù turn'd round
And hid her face within Juanna's breast:
Her neck alone was seen, but that was found
The colour of a budding rose's crest.
I can't tell why she blush'd, nor can expound
The mystery of this rupture of their rest;
All that I know is, that the facts I state
Are true as truth has ever been of late.

LXXXVI.

And so good night to them, or, if you will,

Good morrow-for the cock had crown, and light Began to clothe each Asiatic hill,

And the mosque crescent struggled into sight Of the long caravan, which in the chill

Of dewy dawn wound slowly round each height That stretches to the stony belt, which girds Asia, where Kaff looks down upon the Kurds.

With the first

LXXXVII.

ray, or rather grey of morn,

Gulbeyaz rose from restlessness; and pale As Passion rises, with its bosom worn,

Array'd herself with mantle, gem, and veil. The nightingale that sings with the deep thorn, Which fable places in her breast of wail, Is lighter far of heart and voice than those Whose headlong passions form their proper woes.

LXXXVIII.

And that's the moral of this composition,
If people would but see its real drift;
But that they will not do without suspicion,
Because all gentle readers have the gift
Of closing 'gainst the light their orbs of vision;
While gentle writers also love to lift

Their voices 'gainst each other, which is natural,
The numbers are too great for them to flatter all.

LXXXIX.

Rose the sultana from a bed of splendour,
Softer than the soft Sybarite's, who cried
Aloud because his feelings were too tender
To brook a ruffled rose-leaf by his side,-
So beautiful that art could little mend her,

Though pale with conflicts between love and So agitated was she with her error, [pride ;

She did not even look into the mirror.