{"id":138,"date":"2021-06-16T10:29:17","date_gmt":"2021-06-16T14:29:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.ryerson.ca\/claudemckay\/?post_type=chapter&p=138"},"modified":"2022-02-03T08:52:57","modified_gmt":"2022-02-03T13:52:57","slug":"a-dream","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/claudemckay\/chapter\/a-dream\/","title":{"raw":"A Dream","rendered":"A Dream"},"content":{"raw":"THE roosters give the signal for daybreak,\r\nAnd through my window[footnote]The window is a jalousie, and its blinds (slats) are shut[\/footnote] pours the grey of morn;\r\nRefreshing breezes fan me as I wake,\r\nAnd down the valley sounds the wesly[footnote]Word of uncertain origin. The wesly horn sounds when any work in common is to be undertaken[\/footnote] horn.\r\n\r\nDay broadens, and I ope the window wide,[footnote]Word of uncertain origin. The wesly horn sounds when any work in common is to be undertaken[\/footnote]\r\nAnd brilliant sunbeams, mixing, rush between\r\nThe gaping blinds, while down at my bedside\r\nI kneel to utter praise to the Unseen.\r\n\r\nThe torch-light glistens through the wattle-pane,[footnote]The bedroom is separated from the kitchen by panes of undaubed wattle, through which is seen the glimmer of the burning torch-wood[\/footnote]\r\nAnd clouds of smoke wreathe upward to the skies;\r\nMy brother at the squeezer juices cane,[footnote]At the squeezer (a rough borne-made machine) is extracting juice from sugar-canes[\/footnote]\r\nAnd visions of tea-hour before me rise.\r\n\r\nLeaving the valley's cup the fleeting fog\r\nSteals up the hill-sides decked with sunbeams rare,\r\nWhich send their search-rays 'neath the time-worn log,\r\nAnd drive the sleeping majoes[footnote]Pronounce the ma as in French-fresh\u00b7water shrimps, which live in the hill\u00b7side brooklets[\/footnote] from their lair.\r\n\r\nBut there are some that yest'reve was the last\r\nFor them to sleep into their watery bed;\r\nFor now my treacherous fish-pot has them fast,\r\nTheir cruel foe which they had so long dread'.[footnote]Whom for so long a time they had dreaded[\/footnote]\r\n\r\nRight joyfully I hear the school-bell ring,\r\nAnd by my sister's side away I trot;\r\nI'm happy as the swee-swees[footnote]Quits. The name imitates their chirping song[\/footnote] on the wing,\r\nAnd feel naught but contentment in my lot.\r\n\r\nI lightly gambol on the school-yard green,\r\nAnd where the damsels[footnote]The damsel (corruption of damson, probably) is like a small star-apple[\/footnote] by the bamboo grove\r\nIn beautiful and stately growth are seen,\r\nFor tiny shiny star-apples I rove.\r\n\r\n* * * * * *\r\n\r\nThe morning wind blows softly past my door,\r\nAnd we prepare for work with gladsome heart;\r\nSweetly the wesly horn resounds once more,\r\nA warning that 'tis time for us to start.\r\n\r\nI scamper quickly 'cross the fire-burnt soil,\r\nAnd the coarse grass-tufts prick my tender feet;\r\nI watch my father at his honest toil,\r\nAnd wonder how he stands the sun's fierce heat.\r\n\r\nA winding footpath down the woodland leads,\r\nAnd through the tall fox-tails I wend my way\r\nDown to the brooklet where the pea-dove feeds,\r\nAnd bucktoes[footnote]Small crawfish[\/footnote] in the water are at play.\r\n\r\nAnd watching as the bubbles rise and fall,\r\nI hear above the murmur of the dale\r\nThe tropic music dear to great and small,\r\nThe joyous outburst of the nightingale .\r\n\r\n* * * * * *\r\n\r\nGone now those happy days when all was blest,\r\nFor I have left my home and kindred dear;\r\nIn a strange place I am a stranger's guest,\r\nThe pains, the real in life, I've now to bear.\r\n\r\nNo more again I'll idle at my will,\r\nRunning the mongoose down upon the lea;\r\nNo more I'll jostle[footnote]Race and fowl[\/footnote] Monty up the hill,\r\nTo pick the cashews[footnote]A fruit (Anacarium occidentale)[\/footnote] off the laden tree.\r\n\r\nI feel the sweetness of those days again,\r\nAnd hate, so hate, on the past scenes to look;\r\nAll night in dreaming comes the awful pain,\r\nAll day I groan beneath the iron yoke.\r\n\r\nIn mercy then, ye Gods, deal me swift death!\r\nAh! you refuse, and life instead you give;\r\nYou keep me here and still prolong my breath,\r\nThat I may suffer all the days I live.\r\n\r\n* * * * * *\r\n\r\n'Tis home again, but not the home of yore;\r\nSadly the scenes of bygone days I view,\r\nAnd as I walk the olden paths once more,\r\nMy heart grows chilly as the morning dew.\r\n\r\nBut see I to-day again my life is glad,\r\nMy heart no more is lone, nor will it pine;\r\nA comfort comes, an earthly fairy clad\r\nIn white, who guides me with her hand in mine.\r\n\r\nHer lustrous eyes gleam only tender love,\r\nAnd viewing her, an angel form I see;\r\nI feed my spirit on my gentle dove,\r\nMy sweetheart Lee, my darling Idalee.[footnote]This tacking of a syllable on to well-known names is common in Jamaica[\/footnote]\r\n\r\nAnd where the peenies glow with greenish fire,\r\nWe kiss and kiss and pledge our hearts as true\r\nOf sweet love-words and hugs we never tire,\r\nBut felt more sorry that they were so few .\r\n\r\n* * * * * *\r\n\r\nI leave my home again, wand'ring afar,\r\nBut goes with me her true, her gentle heart,\r\nEver to be my hope, my guiding star,\r\nAnd whisperings of comfort to impart.\r\n\r\nMethinks we're strolling by the woodland stream,\r\nAnd my frame thrills with joy to hear her sing:\r\nBut, O my God! 'tis all -- 'tis all a dream;\r\nThis is the end, the rude awakening.","rendered":"

THE roosters give the signal for daybreak,
\nAnd through my window[1]<\/sup><\/a> pours the grey of morn;
\nRefreshing breezes fan me as I wake,
\nAnd down the valley sounds the wesly[2]<\/sup><\/a> horn.<\/p>\n

Day broadens, and I ope the window wide,[3]<\/sup><\/a>
\nAnd brilliant sunbeams, mixing, rush between
\nThe gaping blinds, while down at my bedside
\nI kneel to utter praise to the Unseen.<\/p>\n

The torch-light glistens through the wattle-pane,[4]<\/sup><\/a>
\nAnd clouds of smoke wreathe upward to the skies;
\nMy brother at the squeezer juices cane,[5]<\/sup><\/a>
\nAnd visions of tea-hour before me rise.<\/p>\n

Leaving the valley’s cup the fleeting fog
\nSteals up the hill-sides decked with sunbeams rare,
\nWhich send their search-rays ‘neath the time-worn log,
\nAnd drive the sleeping majoes[6]<\/sup><\/a> from their lair.<\/p>\n

But there are some that yest’reve was the last
\nFor them to sleep into their watery bed;
\nFor now my treacherous fish-pot has them fast,
\nTheir cruel foe which they had so long dread’.[7]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n

Right joyfully I hear the school-bell ring,
\nAnd by my sister’s side away I trot;
\nI’m happy as the swee-swees[8]<\/sup><\/a> on the wing,
\nAnd feel naught but contentment in my lot.<\/p>\n

I lightly gambol on the school-yard green,
\nAnd where the damsels[9]<\/sup><\/a> by the bamboo grove
\nIn beautiful and stately growth are seen,
\nFor tiny shiny star-apples I rove.<\/p>\n

* * * * * *<\/p>\n

The morning wind blows softly past my door,
\nAnd we prepare for work with gladsome heart;
\nSweetly the wesly horn resounds once more,
\nA warning that ’tis time for us to start.<\/p>\n

I scamper quickly ‘cross the fire-burnt soil,
\nAnd the coarse grass-tufts prick my tender feet;
\nI watch my father at his honest toil,
\nAnd wonder how he stands the sun’s fierce heat.<\/p>\n

A winding footpath down the woodland leads,
\nAnd through the tall fox-tails I wend my way
\nDown to the brooklet where the pea-dove feeds,
\nAnd bucktoes[10]<\/sup><\/a> in the water are at play.<\/p>\n

And watching as the bubbles rise and fall,
\nI hear above the murmur of the dale
\nThe tropic music dear to great and small,
\nThe joyous outburst of the nightingale .<\/p>\n

* * * * * *<\/p>\n

Gone now those happy days when all was blest,
\nFor I have left my home and kindred dear;
\nIn a strange place I am a stranger’s guest,
\nThe pains, the real in life, I’ve now to bear.<\/p>\n

No more again I’ll idle at my will,
\nRunning the mongoose down upon the lea;
\nNo more I’ll jostle[11]<\/sup><\/a> Monty up the hill,
\nTo pick the cashews[12]<\/sup><\/a> off the laden tree.<\/p>\n

I feel the sweetness of those days again,
\nAnd hate, so hate, on the past scenes to look;
\nAll night in dreaming comes the awful pain,
\nAll day I groan beneath the iron yoke.<\/p>\n

In mercy then, ye Gods, deal me swift death!
\nAh! you refuse, and life instead you give;
\nYou keep me here and still prolong my breath,
\nThat I may suffer all the days I live.<\/p>\n

* * * * * *<\/p>\n

‘Tis home again, but not the home of yore;
\nSadly the scenes of bygone days I view,
\nAnd as I walk the olden paths once more,
\nMy heart grows chilly as the morning dew.<\/p>\n

But see I to-day again my life is glad,
\nMy heart no more is lone, nor will it pine;
\nA comfort comes, an earthly fairy clad
\nIn white, who guides me with her hand in mine.<\/p>\n

Her lustrous eyes gleam only tender love,
\nAnd viewing her, an angel form I see;
\nI feed my spirit on my gentle dove,
\nMy sweetheart Lee, my darling Idalee.[13]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n

And where the peenies glow with greenish fire,
\nWe kiss and kiss and pledge our hearts as true
\nOf sweet love-words and hugs we never tire,
\nBut felt more sorry that they were so few .<\/p>\n

* * * * * *<\/p>\n

I leave my home again, wand’ring afar,
\nBut goes with me her true, her gentle heart,
\nEver to be my hope, my guiding star,
\nAnd whisperings of comfort to impart.<\/p>\n

Methinks we’re strolling by the woodland stream,
\nAnd my frame thrills with joy to hear her sing:
\nBut, O my God! ’tis all — ’tis all a dream;
\nThis is the end, the rude awakening.<\/p>\n

  1. The window is a jalousie, and its blinds (slats) are shut ↵<\/a><\/li>
  2. Word of uncertain origin. The wesly horn sounds when any work in common is to be undertaken ↵<\/a><\/li>
  3. Word of uncertain origin. The wesly horn sounds when any work in common is to be undertaken ↵<\/a><\/li>
  4. The bedroom is separated from the kitchen by panes of undaubed wattle, through which is seen the glimmer of the burning torch-wood ↵<\/a><\/li>
  5. At the squeezer (a rough borne-made machine) is extracting juice from sugar-canes ↵<\/a><\/li>
  6. Pronounce the ma as in French-fresh\u00b7water shrimps, which live in the hill\u00b7side brooklets ↵<\/a><\/li>
  7. Whom for so long a time they had dreaded ↵<\/a><\/li>
  8. Quits. The name imitates their chirping song ↵<\/a><\/li>
  9. The damsel (corruption of damson, probably) is like a small star-apple ↵<\/a><\/li>
  10. Small crawfish ↵<\/a><\/li>
  11. Race and fowl ↵<\/a><\/li>
  12. A fruit (Anacarium occidentale) ↵<\/a><\/li>
  13. This tacking of a syllable on to well-known names is common in Jamaica ↵<\/a><\/li><\/ol><\/div>","protected":false},"author":251,"menu_order":36,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[48],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-138","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry","chapter-type-numberless"],"part":3,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/claudemckay\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/138","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/claudemckay\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/claudemckay\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/claudemckay\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/251"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/claudemckay\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/138\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/claudemckay\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/138\/revisions\/139"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/claudemckay\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/3"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/claudemckay\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/138\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/claudemckay\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=138"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/claudemckay\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=138"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/claudemckay\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=138"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/claudemckay\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=138"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}