Oh stay, I cried—­bright visions, stay,
And leave me not forlorn! 
But, smiling still, they passed away,
Like shadows of the morn.

One spirit still remained, and cried,
“Thy soul shall ne’er forget!”
He standeth ever by my side—­
The phantom called Regret!

But still the spirits rose, and there
Were weary hours of pain,
And anxious hours of fear and care
Bound by an iron chain.

Dim shadows came of lonely hours,
That shunned the light of day,
And in the opening smile of flowers
Saw only quick decay.

Calm hours that sought the starry skies
For heavenly lore were there;
With folded hands and earnest eyes,
I knew the hours of prayer.

Stern hours that darkened the sun’s light,
Heralds of coming woes,
With trailing wings, before my sight
From the dim past arose.

As each dark vision passed and spoke
I prayed it to depart: 
At each some buried sorrow woke
And stirred within my heart.

Until these hours of pain and care
Lifted their tearful eyes,
Spread their dark pinions in the air
And passed into the skies.

VERSE:  THE TWO INTERPRETERS

“The clouds are fleeting by, father,
Look in the shining west,
The great white clouds sail onward
Upon the sky’s blue breast. 
Look at a snowy eagle,
His wings are tinged with red,
And a giant dolphin follows him,
With a crown upon his head!”

The father spake no word, but watched
The drifting clouds roll by;
He traced a misty vision too
Upon the shining sky: 
A shadowy form, with well-known grace
Of weary love and care,
Above the smiling child she held,
Shook down her floating hair.

“The clouds are changing now, father,
Mountains rise higher and higher! 
And see where red and purple ships
Sail in a sea of fire!”
The father pressed the little hand
More closely in his own,
And watched a cloud-dream in the sky
That he could see alone: 
Bright angels carrying far away
A white form, cold and dead,
Two held the feet, and two bore up
The flower-crowned, drooping head.

“See, father, see! a glory floods
The sky, and all is bright,
And clouds of every hue and shade
Burn in the golden light. 
And now, above an azure lake,
Rise battlements and towers,
Where knights and ladies climb the heights,
All bearing purple flowers.”

The father looked, and, with a pang
Of love and strange alarm,
Drew close the little eager child
Within his sheltering arm;
From out the clouds the mother looks
With wistful glance below,
She seems to seek the treasure left
On earth so long ago;
She holds her arms out to her child,
His cradle-song she sings: 
The last rays of the sunset gleam
Upon her outspread wings.