That Comrade of My Dreams. A Poem

That Comrade of my Dreams. (For the Improvement Era.) When the days are bright and sunny, And the sky's the nicest blue, And the trees are tellin' stories Just so like they used to do; By a moss-grown mill I wander, Where a silv'ry river gleams Through a fringe of tall tigalders, With that comrade of my dreams. I can see the dim, blue mountains Through the Indian Summer haze, An' the canyons black and purple As they were in by-gone days; I can hear the chip-munk chirpin', An' the eagle's lusty screams, As I stand, my soul enraptured— By that comrade of my dreams. Then we wander through the meadow, By the big, old cottonwood, Where the swing was made in summer, And the quaint, old bow'ry stood;

THAT COMRADE OF MY DREAMS. 999 Then once more I hear her laughter, - Sweetest melody it seems — As I swing her to the branches — That sweet comrade of my dreams. There's a path we lov'd to travel, Where it curved an' wound along Through the golden-rod an' red- top, An' the hawthorns big an' strong; An' just where the cat-tails rally In the sun's last ruddy beams, There [ told the old, old story To the comrade of my dreams. Then the path winds by the school house Where as boy and girl we played, An' on past the little cottage . Where as man an' wife we prayed; An' over the wooden foot-bridge — There a lonely, white stone gleams Which I bathe in tears an' roses For that comrade of my dreams. But when my poor heart is weary With the burdens of the day, An' the cares of life are crowding All along my lonely way; Oft I feel her presence near me — A sweet influence it seems — An' I smile in sweet contentment At the comrade of my dreams. H. R. Merrill. Presion, Idaho, June 21, iqu