The principal minister of Sleep is Morpheus, son of Somnus, who was the
presider over sleep; the former was the parent of dreams, of whom, by a
beautiful idea, imagination was said to be the mother. The palace of Somnus
was a dark cave, where the god lies asleep on a bed of feathers. The dreams
stand by him, and Morpheus, as his principal minister, watches, to prevent
any noise from awaking him.
"Oh lightly, lightly tread,
A holy thing is sleep;
On the worn spirit shed,
And eyes that wake to weep.
A holy thing from heaven,
A gracious, dewy cloud,
A covering mantle given,
The weary to enshroud!
Oh! lightly, lightly tread;
Revere the pale, still brow,
The meekly drooping head,
The long hair's willowy flow.
Ye know not what ye do,
That call the slumberers back,
From the world unseen by you
Unto life's dim faded track.
Her soul is far away,
In her childhood's land, perchance,
Where her young sisters play,
Where shines her mother's glance.
Some old sweet native sound
Her spirit haply weaves;
A harmony profound,
Of woods with all their leaves.
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A murmur of the sea,
A laughing tone of streams;
Long may her sojourn be
In the music land of dreams.
Each voice of love is there,
Each gleam of beauty fled,
Each lost one still more fair--
Oh! lightly, lightly tread!"