Strange dreams!  Where is their birthplace—­where their home? 
  Lighter than foam upon the crested wave,
  Fleeter than shadows of the passing cloud,
  They are of such fantastic substance made
  That quick as thought they change their fickle forms—­
  Now grander than the waking vision views,
  Now stranger than the wildest fancy feigns,
  And now so grim and terrible they start
  The hardened conscience from its guilty sleep. 
  In troops they come, trooping they fly away,
  Waved into being by the magic wand
  Of some deep purpose of the inmost soul,
  Some hidden joy or sorrow, guilt or fear—­
  Or better, as the wise of old believed,
  Called into being by some heavenly guest
  To soothe, to warn, instruct or terrify.

  Strange dreams by night and troubled thoughts by day
  Disturb the prince and banish quiet sleep. 
  He dreamed that darkness, visible and dense,
  Shrouded the heavens and brooded o’er the earth,
  Whose rayless, formless, vacant nothingness
  Curdled his blood and made his eyeballs ache;
  When suddenly from out this empty void
  A cloud, shining with golden light, was borne
  By gentle winds, loaded with sweet perfumes,
  Sweeter than spring-time on this earth can yield. 
  The cloud passed just above him, and he saw
  Myriads of cherub faces looking down,
  Sweet as Rahula, freed from earthly stain;
  Such faces mortal brush could never paint—­
  Enraptured Raphael ne’er such faces saw. 
  But still the outer darkness hovered near,
  And ever and anon a bony hand
  Darts out to snatch some cherub face away. 
  Then dreamed he saw a broad and pleasant land,
  With cities, gardens, groves and fruitful fields,
  Where bee-fed flowers half hide the ripening fruits. 
  And spicy breezes stir the trembling leaves,
  And many birds make sweetest melody,
  But bordered by a valley black as night,
  That ever vomits from its sunless depths
  Great whirling clouds of suffocating smoke,
  Blacker than hide the burning Aetna’s head,
  Blacker than over Lake Avernus hung;
  No bird could fly above its fatal fumes;
  Eagles, on tireless pinions upward borne,
  In widening circles rising toward the sun,
  Venturing too near its exhalations, fall,
  As sinks the plummet in the silent sea;
  And lions, springing on their antlered prey,
  Drop still and lifeless on its deadly brink;
  Only the jackal’s dismal howl is heard
  To break its stillness and eternal sleep. 
  He was borne forward to the very verge
  Of this dark valley, by some power unseen. 
  A wind that pierced his marrow parts the clouds,
  And far within, below he saw a sight
  That stood his hair on end, beaded his brow
  With icy drops, and made his blood run cold;
  He saw a lofty throne, blacker than jet,
  But shining with a strange and baleful