for fictions of a brain too prone to such. Yet he glances behind him
and shivers, while the lamp burns pale. Farewell, dreamer,--waking or
sleeping! Your brightest dreams are fled; your mind grows too hard and
cold for a spiritual guest to enter; you are earthly, too, and have all
the sins of earth. The ghost will visit you no more.

But where is the maiden, holy and pure, though wearing a form of clay,
that would have me bend over her pillow at midnight, and leave a
blessing there? With a silent invocation, let her summon me. Shrink
not, maiden, when I come! In life, I was a high-souled youth,
meditative, yet seldom sad, full of chaste fancies, and stainless from
all grosser sin. And now, ill death, I bring no loathsome smell of the
grave, nor ghostly terrors,--but gentle, and soothing, and sweetly
pensive influences. Perhaps, just fluttering for the skies, my visit
may hallow the wellsprings of thy thought, and make thee heavenly here
on earth. Then shall pure dreams and holy meditations bless thy life;
nor thy sainted spirit linger round the grave, but seek the upper stars,
and meet me there!