Once a dream did weave a shadeO’er my angel-guarded bed,That an emmet lost its wayWhere on grass methought I lay.
Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,Dark, benighted, travel-worn,Over many a tangled spray,All heart-broke, I heard her say:
‘O my children! do they cry,Do they hear their father sigh?Now they look abroad to see,Now return and weep for me.’
Pitying, I dropped a tear:But I saw a glow-worm near,Who replied, ‘What wailing wightCalls the watchman of the night?’
‘I am set to light the ground,While the beetle goes his round:Follow now the beetle’s hum;Little wanderer, hie thee home!’