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DREAMS.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

A little isle, like jewel laid

Upon the bosom of a maid.

The flowers should blossom at our feet,

The lilies frail and violets sweet

And all the air, with fragrance fraught

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From perfumed beds of jasmine brought,

Should woo us with its soft caress

And hovering round us seem to bless;

And gurgling low through mossy nook

Should flow a silver-threaded brook,

Along whose verdant banks we'd stray

And watch the dragon-flies at play;

Or plunging into depths of shade

By waving ferns and lush grass made,

We'd see the spotted deer pass by

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