Evening star., 1905-11-11
WORK DONE IN DREAMS.
Stories Of the Sublime Poetry Lost III
Waking.

WdAInk.
From the London Globe
In the latest series of Sir Mountstuart
Duffs Notes from a Diary it is related
that the late Lord Lytton, when viceroy of
India, had repeated to his guests on one
occasion poem which he professed to
have composed when asleep:
There are boating and sailing
ana nshfng FOR grayiing,
Where the blue wave rolls nightly on deep
Galilee
But sweeter the places
Where aldermen's braces
Are sold for bootlaces in Bonnie Dundee.
The diarist ventured to doubt whether
the vfceroy was not trying to impose on the
credulity OF his friends-a suspicion which
will be shared by most readers.
But whether these lines were dreamed or
not there can be no doubt that one OF the
most curious sections OF the whole subject
Of dream work is that which relates TO the
comparative value OF work done or imag-
ined In sleep. No experience Is more gen.
eral than the waking from a particularly
vivid dream only to find that in the very
process of waking the whole vision, ap-
parently so real and strong for brief mo-
ment, vanishes beyond recall. This dssolv-
Ing touch of psychical or dream life Is like
the contact of the air with long
tombed, well-preserved human body sud
denly exposed to the light of day. While
the tomb openers gaze upon the features
SO strangely preserved from a long past
the relic of humanity crumbles to dust.
A strange point about the difficulty in
keeping in mental grip of a dream is that,
although no detail can be remembered, an
impression remains which, in cases that
have been tested, has often turned out to
be quite incorrect 1t is related by Mickle,
the Scottish poet, best known as the trans
lator of the Portuguese epic, the Lusiad'
Of Camoens, that he always regretted he
could not remember the poetry which he
composed in his sleep. 1t was, he said, so
infinitely superior to anything he could pro-
duce in his waking hours. One morning on
waking he was lamenting, as he had SO
often done before, that he should be con-
scious of having composed such sublime
poetry and yet be unable to recall word
of it. What! said his wife, who happened
to be awake. Were you writing poetry?'
Yes" he replied, 'and such poetry that
I would give the world to remember it."
We'll, then" said she. Il did luckily hear
the last lines. and 1 am sure l remembered
them exactly. They were
''By Heaven, I'll wreak my woes
Upon the cowslip and the pale primrose
Mr. Mickle was probably cured of his
habit of lamentation.
The late Lewis Carroll noted in his
Diary that he once heard Tennyson re-
late that he had often dreamed long pas
sages of poetry and believed them to be
good at the time, but could never remember
any of them on waking, except four Zines,
which he dreamed at ten years old, and
May cock sparrow
Write to barrow?
/ hope you'll excuse
My infantile muse.
This, as the diarist remarks as an I'M
published fragment of the late laureate
may be thought interesting, but not af-
fording much promise of his after powers. -
On the same occasion Tennyson told mis-
hearers that he once dreamed an enor
mously long poem about fairies, which be-
gan with very long lines that gradually got
shorter, and ended with fifty or sixty lines
of two syllables each,
On the other hand, poets have occasion
ally found their dreams of service. Southey,
in a letter to his brother, says: Il forgot
my dreams, and have no Daniel to help
out my recollection; and If by chance do
remember them, unless they are instantly
written down the impression passes away
almost as lightly as the dream itself" But
he goes on to say that one or two of his
dreams were noted at the time, and were
afterward Incorporated in scenes of his now
little read poem, THE Curse of Kehama."
And then, of course, there Is the familiar
story of Coleridge falling asleep one sum-
mer afternoon in a quiet farmhouse after
reading about the Khan Kubia In Purchas'
"Pilgrimes," composing several hundred
lines in the course Of a three hours sleep,
waking, and at once beginning to Write
them down. only to be interrupted at the
fifty-fourth line by a visitor-that person
from Porlock' whose memory is execrated
by all lovers of poetry-with the result that
on returning to his desk an hour later the
poet found that the rest of his dream verse
had faded from his memory. "kubia Khan
remains melodious fragment; but If the
person from Porlock'' had only lost his
way, or had come to grief sufficient to
cause delay of an hour or two, We might
have had completely beautiful poem.