Soft and low a voice breathed o’er me,

Near me did my mother seem;

Flashed a ray of joy before me,

But, alas, it was a dream!

There the murmuring streamlet flowing

Scattered radiant pearls around,

Pure and clear, like crystal glowing—

But it was a dream, unsound.

And my mother’s mournful singing

Took me back to childhood’s day,

To my mind her kisses bringing—

’Twas a dream and passed away!

To her heart she pressed me yearning,

Wiped her eyes which wet did seem;

And her tears fell on me burning—

Why should it have been a dream?