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[from the Southern Field and Fireside.] the Rainbow dream.
by Alexander means, Dd., Lld.

The following position effusion had its origins in a singular and impressive dream which charmed a sleeping hour of the author, a few months since.

The vision was so full of poetic beauty, blended with novel grandeur, that, although he may fail to transmit to any reader the vivacious and implication of the scene, he has, nevertheless, under the promptings of his more, endeavored to embody its more luminous features, and, without claiming the faculty of Joseph to indulge in a favorable, although it may be a fanciful interpretation, which he cannot but pray Heaven may, at no distant day, find its ample realization in the providential deliverance and peerless glory of his disenthralled and rejoicing country. A. H.

‘ It was night on the plain, and the village was still;
Not a wing was about on the air;
Ev'ry wheat was at rest in the neighboring mill,
And the invalid dazed in his chair.

I had prayed for the loved once, in camps far away,
And had sunk in the arms of repose.
Overpowered by the cares and the tolls of the day,
When a bright dreamy vision cross.

It was twilight, it seem'd, as I gaz'd from my room,
And beheld on the dark Southern sky
A rainbow in beauty and majesty room
O'er the billowy cloud-drifts on high.

As I stepp'd from the door, and with rapid eye-glance,
Swept the broad panoramas around--
How sublime was the pomp, through the blazing expanse,
While the atmosphere breath'd not a sound!

For in prismatic glory the heavens all smil'd,
And shone on the landscape below--
From horizon to zenith the arches were pil'd--
East, West, North and South were aglow.

Fleecy masses of vapor, d'arupted and pale,
As if taking their leave of the sky,
Floated gloomily by, ever mountain and vale,
Yet they robb'd not a bow of its dye.

For aloft in the East was the "All-seeing Eye,"
And resplendent with streamers of light;
It was burning like Constantine's Cross on the sky,
And the soul bow'd in awe at the sight.

Great God! with what grandeur creation then shone,
In her purple, and crimson, and gold.
Was the curtain uplifted that circles the Throne,
And a scroll from the God head unroll'd?

Were the thousand bright arches that spann'd the blue dome,
The symbolic fore-tokens of peace?
Shall the tempest that beats o'er my once happy home
And the thunder of battle soon cease?

Shall the red clouds of war — rent and torn by the blast.
That Mercy shall speed from on high--
Be swept from our sky, and the sunshine at last
Kindle joy through the land, for and nigh?

Does the eye of Omniscience suspiciously beam
On the land of the orange and pine,
To encourage our faith with the glories that gleam
From a Providence truly Divine?

Then thanks for the vision — so rich and so rare--
So abounding with hope, and with God;
We shall yet about in triumph, and breath a free air,
Where the Goth and the Vandal have trod.

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