PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAMTHE VISIONARY. Silent is the house: all are laid asleep: One alone looks out o'er the snow wreaths deep, Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees. Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor; Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door; The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far: I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding star.