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'Well, what are we to do then, according to you? said one of us; 'play cards, or what? go to sleep? break up and go home? 'Playing cards is agreeable, and sleep's always salutary, retorted the small man; 'but it's early yet to break up and go home. You didn't understand me, though.
Will you be always like the children who hate to be sent to bed, and think that when they are grown up they will never go to bed at all? Yet in a few years' time how glad they are of the stray chance of bed at ten. May it not be so with sleep's twin-brother?
"Long was my night for sleepless misery; * Weary of body and of thought ne'er free: I rose and in my palace walked awhile, * Then wandered thro' the halls of Haremry: Till chanced I on a blackness, which I found * A white girl hid in hair for napery: Here to her for a moon of brightest sheen! * Like willow-wand and veiled in pudency: I quaffed a cup to her; then drew I near, * And kissed the beauty-spot on cheek had she: She woke astart, and in her sleep's amaze, * Swayed as the swaying branch in rain we see; Then rose and said to me, 'O Trusted One * Of Allah, O Amin, what may this be?
There are hours claimed by Sleep, but refused to him. None the less are they his by some state within the mind, which answers rhythmically and punctually to that claim. Awake and at work, without drowsiness, without languor, and without gloom, the night mind of man is yet not his day mind; he has night-powers of feeling which are at their highest in dreams, but are night's as well as sleep's.
"How you going to pour coffee down a man that lays flat on his belly and won't open his mouth?" he inquired, in an injured tone. "Sleep's all he needs, anyway. He'll be all right by morning." The other snorted dissent. "He'll be all right by dark or he'll feel a whole lot worse," he promised grimly. "Dig up some ice. And a good jolt of bromo, if you've got it and a towel or two."
"He's that handy with a child, sir, you wouldn't think 'Deed you wouldn't." Then, stooping to the baby as it ate its supper, "But I'm saying, young woman, is there no sleep in your eyes to-night?" "No, but nodding away here like a wood-thrush in a tree," said Pete. He was ladling the pobs into the child's mouth, and scooping the overflow from her chin. "Sleep's a terrible enemy of this one, sir.
My soul slumbers not. And who can say but those who fetter me, May, ere to-morrow, groan themselves in fetters! Wake me! For lo! their sleep's less sweet than mine. Call! Call! From night to morn, from twilight to dawn, Incessant! Yea, in God's name, Call! Call! Call! Amen! Amen! Thy will, Oh God, be done! Yet surely Thou at length shalt hear my sighs! Shalt burst my prison doors!
I forgot; she should have had some long ago." He tried to catch her once more in his embrace, restrain her. "It would be better not to wake her up," he protested, "sleep's what sick folks need." But she continued to evade him. Mrs. Caley must have her medicine. The doctor had said that it was important. "It's my duty, Gordon," she told him, "and you would want me to do that."
She lay like a carven statue, her face marble white in the clear morning light. 'I'm a'most doubtful about wakin' her, said her mother. 'Theer's no doubt as Samson gi'en her a shock, an' sleep's good for her. But her's had welly fifteen hours of it now, if she's been asleep all the tima Julia, my love, she said softly, almost in the sleeper's ear. 'My sakes, how pale her is. Jenny! come here!
Are not these sheltered lowlands fair With mead and bloom and vine? Ah! as the slow-paced river here Broods on its natal rills My spirit drifts, in longing sweet, Back to the Georgia hills. "And through the close-drawn, curtained night I steal on sleep's slow wings Back to my heart's ease slopes of pine Where end my wanderings.
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