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Mollie shut her eyes and listened to Aunt Mary, who just then began to sing Mollie could hear the words quite plainly: "Oft in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain hath bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me." They were standing on a rough deeply rutted cart-track high up on a hill-side.
"To count the hours that struggle to thine end, With not a friend to animate, and tell To other ears that death became thee well," but he does not break down. Gulnare tries to persuade him that the only way by which he can save himself from tortures and impalement is by the assassination of Seyd, but he refuses to accept the terms "Who spares a woman's seeks not slumber's life"
Between his eyes and the type-blackened paper mirages of the past trembled and wavered; old faces, old scenes, old illusions took unsubstantial form, dissolved, blended, faded away: a saddening show of shadows. His heavy eyelids drooped; slumber's drowsy vestments trailed lazily athwart the sea of consciousness....
These, however, were familiar objects, and they received but a glance; upon the edge of the divan, close by him, a girl scarcely fifteen sat singing to the accompaniment of a nebel, which she rested upon her knee, and touched gracefully. "Wake not, but hear me, love! Adrift, adrift on slumber's sea, Thy spirit call to list to me. Wake not, but hear me, love!
"Now leave your feasts and banquetings and gird you in your steel! And leave the couches of delight, where slumber's charm you feel; Your country calls for succor, all must the word obey, For the freedom of your fathers is in your hands to-day. Ah, sore may be the struggle, and vast may be the cost; But yet no tie of love must keep you now, or all is lost.
Oh, town, I leave you for a week, your burdens and your duties! The country calls me I must seek its glories and its beauties! Reality Gee whiz! I'd give a million bones to be back home a-sleeping! My shoes are full of burs and stones, and I am tired of weeping. Last night I sought a stack of hay, where slumber's fetters bound me, and at the cold, bleak break of day a husky farmer found me.
Some years ago our present King exhorted this island to "wake up" in one of the most remarkable of British royal utterances, and Mr. Owen Seaman assures him in verse of an altogether laureate quality that we are now "Free of the snare of slumber's silken bands," though I have not myself observed it.
Sleep, mother, sleep! in slumber blest, It joys my heart to see thee rest. Unfelt in sleep thy load of sorrow; Breathe free and thoughtless of to-morrow; And long, and light, thy slumbers last, In happy dreams forget the past. Sleep, mother, sleep! thy slumber's blest; It joys my heart to see thee rest.
Sleep, mother, sleep! thy slumber's blest; It joys my heart to see thee rest. While MABEL is singing the second stanza, OWEN and ANDREW HOPE enter. Mr. HOPE stops short, and listens: he makes a sign to OWEN to stand still, and not to interrupt MABEL while OWEN approaches her on tiptoe. Mr. Owen. So Mabel! I thought you never sung for strangers? HOPE She rises and curtsies. Mr.
Let the salts we duly bring Purge the flood, and speed the flow. From the dross and the scum, Pure, the fusion must come; For perfect and pure we the metal must keep, That its voice may be perfect, and pure, and deep. That voice, with merry music rife, The cherished child shall welcome in; What time the rosy dreams of life, In the first slumber's arms begin.
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