Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,
And all the currents of a heady fight.

Ever in my nightly slumber

KING HENRY IV.

Comes a wild and fearful dream,
Of a dark plain-corse, encumbered,
By a roaring bloodstained stream;
Ever hear I night-wind moaning
Mid the cannon-broken trees,
Ever hear a dreary groaning
Wafted on the sulph'ry breeze;
And amid the dead and dying,
One pale face alarms me yet;
Mid the maddened horses lying,
One that I can ne'er forget.

H. P. LELAND.

Beating.

Blows betoken domestic troubles.

APOMAZOR.

WHEN shaws beene sheene and shradds full fayre,

And leaves both large and longe,

It is merry walking in the fayre forrèst

To heare the small birds' song.

The woodwele sang, and wold not cease,
Sitting upon the spraye,

Soe loude, he wakened Robin Hood,

In the greenwood where he lay.

Now by my faye, said jollye Robin,
A dream I had this night;

I dreamt me of two wighty yeomen,
That fast with me can fight.

Methought they did mee beate and binde,
And tooke my bow mee fro;

Iff I be Robin alive in this lande,

Ile be wroken (revenged) on them two.

Dreames are swift, master, quoth John,
As the wind blowes ore the hill;
For if itt be never so loud this night,
To-morrow it may be still.

PERCY'S RELIQUES.

Beauty.

To dream of beauty (de Venere) is a most favourable omen to those who labour industriously, for it is the nature and spring of all life and activity. And this is a good sign not only to travellers but to those who propose remaining still, for it stirreth up even the indolent and unwilling to activity. So Venus Anadyomene, rising from the ocean, is ominous to sailors, of storm and wreck, yet nevertheless preserves their lives and brings to a fortunate conclusion, labours cnd negotiations which have seemed hopeless and desperate.

ARTEMIDORUS, Lib. 2, CAP. 42.

I SLEPT and dreamed that life was beauty,
I woke and found that life was duty;

Was then my dream a shadowy lie?

Toil on, sad heart, courageously,
And thou shalt find thy dream to be
A noon-day light and truth to thee.

On a pleasant summer day,

In a garden as I lay

ANONYMOUS.

Drowsed with the perfume of a thousand flowers,
Mine eyes enchanted with their rainbow gleaming,
And lulled by ever-dropping fountain showers,
I fell asleep-from sleep I fell to dreaming;
When lo! beside me sat the Dame of Love-

The Queen of whitest fairness clad in light,

But she was stern, and ruffled e'en her dove: "What dost thou here?" she cried-" arise and write!

"Go forth and labour !-put thy armour on!
Do anything!-but something thou must do ;
They lie who say I love a faineant,

And slander Love with libel most untrue.
The brave, thou know'st, alone deserve the fair,
But who are now the brave in every land?
Though Love-in-Idleness be sweet to wear,
I love it best when plucked by labour's hand.

C. G. LELAND.

If, in the warm and passionate hour
When Reason sleeps in Fancy's bower,
If thou hast ever, ever felt

A dream of delicate beauty melt

Into the heart's recess,

Seen by the soul, and seen by the mind,

But indistinct its loveliness,

Adored and not defined:

A bright creation, a shadowy ray,
Fading and flitting in mist away,
Nothing to gaze on, and nothing to hear,
But something to cheat the eye and ear
With a fond conception and joy of both,
So that you might, that hour, be loth
To change for some one's sweetest kiss
The visions of unenduring bliss,
Or lose for some one's sweetest tone,
The murmur thou drinkest all alone-
If such a vision hath ever been thine,
Thou hast a heart that may look on mine!

PRAED.

Beech Tree.

To dream of the beech tree is an omen of peace and prosperity.

ARTEMIDORUS.

OH leave this barren spot to me;
Spare, Woodman, spare the beechen tree!
Though shrub or floweret never grow
My wan unwanning shade below,
Nor fruits of glossy autumn born
My green and glossy leaves adorn,
Nor murmuring tribes from me derive
The ambrosial treasures of the hive,
Yet leave this little spot to me;
Spare, Woodman, spare the beechen tree!

Thrice twenty summers I have stood
In bloomless fruitless solitude;
Since childhood in my rustling bower
First spent its sweet and sportive hour,
Since youthful lovers in my shade
Their vows of truth and rapture paid,
And on my trunk's surviving frame
Carved many a long-forgotten name;
Oh! by the vows of gentle sound
First breathed upon this sacred ground,
By all that Love hath whispered here
Or Beauty heard with ravished ear,
As Love's own altar honour me,—

Spare, Woodman, spare the beechen tree!

CAMPBELL.

Beer and Ale.

A sign of good fortune if clear, but a sad omen if turbid."

GERMAN DREAM BOOK.

IN a jolly field of barley good King Cambrinus slept,
And dreaming of his thirsty realm the merry monarch

wept,

"In all my land of Netherland there grows no mead or

wine,

And water I could never coax adown this throat of mine.