NORTH AND SOUTH.

Of the North I wove a dream,

All bespangled with the gleam

Of the glancing wings of swallows

Dipping ripples in a stream,

That, like a tide of wine,

Wound through lands of shade and shine

Where purple grapes hung bursting on the vine.

And where orchard-boughs were bent

Till their tawny fruitage blent

With the golden wake that marked the

Way the happy reapers went;

Where the dawn died into noon

As the May-mists into June,

And the dusk fell like a sweet face in a swoon.

Of the South I dreamed: And there

Came a vision clear and fair

As the marvelous enchantments

Of the mirage of the air;

And I saw the bayou-trees,

With their lavish draperies,

Hang heavy o'er the moon-washed cypress-knees.

Peering from lush fens of rice,

I beheld the Negro's eyes,

Lit with that old superstition

Death itself can not disguise;

And I saw the palm tree nod

Like an oriental god,

And the cotton froth and bubble from the pod,

And I dreamed that North and South,

With a sigh of dew and drouth,

Blew each unto the other

The salute of lip and mouth;

And I wakened, awed and thrilled —

Every doubting murmur stilled

In the silence of the dream I found fulfilled.