IV. THE WAKING.

Over his head the chafer hummeth,

Under his feet shut daisies bend:

Waken, man! the enemy cometh,

Thy neighbor, counted so long a friend.

He cannot waken — and firm, and steady,

The enemy comes with lowering brow;

He looks for war, his heart is ready,

His thoughts are bitter — he will not bow.

He fronts the seat,— the dream is flinging

A spell that his footsteps may not break,—

But one in the garden of hops is singing —

The dreamer hears it, and starts awake.