An
ESSAY
on
HOPE
.
TO
you
who
ne'er
the
willing
Verse
refuse
,
Thus
sings
an
humble
but
a
grateful
Muse
:
Our
Theme
is
Hope
—
but
of
a
diff'rent
kind
,
The
Bane
or
Blessing
of
the
subject
Mind
;
This
dawning
Joy
that
to
the
Soul
was
given
,
As
a
short
Earnest
of
its
future
Heav'n
:
To
blame
is
not
the
Purpose
of
my
Song
,
But
warn
our
Sisters
not
to
place
it
wrong
.
Shun
trifling
Hope
,
that
bids
your
Fancy
roll
,
The
constant
Torment
of
a
restless
Soul
:
For
two
pale
Handmaids
are
for
ever
near
,
Sick
Disappointment
and
the
secret
Tear
:
'Tis
this
that
makes
the
restless
Heart
repine
,
Beneath
the
Treasures
of
an
Indian
Mine
Much
Fortune
gives
—
Yet
,
Give
us
more
,
they
cry
,
And
some
new
Prospect
lures
the
dazzl'd
Eye
:
Like
wanton
Babes
they
reach
at
something
more
,
And
drop
the
Gewgaws
which
they
held
before
.
See
the
puff'd
Tradesman
strut
before
his
Door
,
Whose
Birth
was
humble
and
whose
Fortune
poor
;
Yet
you
may
see
his
roving
Thoughts
depend
On
some
bold
Venture
or
some
wealthy
Friend
,
Till
the
lost
Bankrupt
drops
into
the
Jaw
Of
pale
Discredit
and
voracious
Law
.
The
grave-fac'd
Student
better
learn'd
than
fed
With
Store
of
Logick
in
his
aking
Head
,
Sees
pleasing
Pictures
in
his
Bosom
drawn
,
The
Dean's
soft
Cushion
and
the
Bishop's
Lawn
:
He
dines
with
Lords
and
takes
the
highest
Place
,
And
weds
a
Countess
,
Cousin
to
his
Grace
.
But
soon
his
Heart
the
lost
Delusion
mourns
:
And
the
proud
Prelate
to
a
Curate
turns
On
some
dark
Dome
with
thirty
Pounds
per-ann
,
He
sips
his
Liquors
in
a
pewter
Cann
.
Young
Seizum
,
fated
to
distract
the
Law
,
Who
talks
of
Men
and
Books
he
never
saw
,
Now
struts
a
Counsellor
,
a
Serjeant
now
,
While
the
quick
Turns
elate
his
scornful
Brow
.
Behold
the
Judge
in
that
commanding
Frown
:
See
then
:
just
then
he
strok'd
his
Ermin'd
Gown
.
Cecilia
soft
,
whose
pleasing
Features
shine
Bright
in
their
Wane
,
and
beauteous
in
Decline
,
Still
to
her
eyes
recalls
the
scatter'd
Darts
,
Still
hopes
the
Conquest
of
a
thousand
Hearts
.
Care
stalks
around
:
Vexation
hovers
nigh
;
Her
Friends
bewail
her
,
and
her
Children
cry
:
Her
wounded
Ears
their
hateful
Whinings
tire
,
Whose
Fancy
dwells
upon
a
wealthy
'Squire
:
Wrap'd
in
soft
Visions
on
her
Couch
she
lies
;
Knights
,
Peers
,
and
Garters
swim
before
her
Eyes
.
She
rides
in
triumph
through
her
Husband's
Fields
,
And
hears
the
rattling
of
her
Chariot
Wheels
,
Till
her
charm'd
Senses
will
contain
no
more
;
Then
flies
the
Vision
through
its
Iv'ry
Door
,
See
Acamas
with
Time's
sad
Burden
bow
,
Guilt
in
his
Breast
and
Wrinkles
on
his
Brow
;
Yet
points
out
Cloe
for
his
charming
Bride
,
And
fain
would
tempt
her
to
his
frozen
Side
:
At
Chapel
where
soft
Grace
and
Virtue
calls
,
And
pale
Vice
trembles
at
the
sacred
Walls
;
Where
Conscience
warns
the
guilty
Wretch
to
pray
,
And
beg
a
Blessing
on
his
closing
Day
.
The
Preacher
reads
:
But
Acamas
the
while
Grins
at
his
Cloe
with
a
ghastly
Smile
.
In
their
red
Orbs
his
waiting
Eye-balls
roll
,
And
Charming
Cloe
rushes
on
his
Soul
:
But
Death
will
teach
the
silver-bearded
Fool
Some
other
Lesson
in
his
gloomy
School
.
Blank
Disappointment
with
its
Train
attends
In
Delia's
Heart
,
if
Delia's
Heart
depends
On
Silia's
Tongue
so
aptly
hung
with
Guile
,
On
Cynthio's
Friendship
or
on
Clara's
Smile
:
Such
courtly
Friends
are
like
the
show'ry
Bow
,
Ting'd
with
false
Lustre
by
Reflexion
glow
:
Like
its
faint
Rays
they
hardly
last
an
Hour
,
Lost
in
a
Cloud
or
melted
in
a
Show'r
.
If
trifling
Hope
has
any
room
to
plead
,
'Tis
that
where
Nature's
simple
Dictates
lead
:
So
the
wet
Hind
,
who
travels
o'er
the
Plain
Through
the
cold
Mire
and
afflicting
Rain
;
Tho'
his
low
Roofs
with
trickling
Show'rs
run
,
May
hope
next
Morn
to
see
the
chearful
Sun
:
Or
when
keen
Hunger
at
the
ev'ning
Tide
Drives
home
the
Shepherd
to
his
rustick
Bride
,
His
honest
Reason
haply
might
not
stray
,
Tho'
he
should
dream
of
Dumpling
all
the
way
.
See
sad
Aemilia
doom'd
by
fatal
Vows
To
the
harsh
Usage
of
a
Tyrant
Spouse
,
To
see
his
Mistress
in
her
Woes
rejoice
,
Her
Fortune
wasted
on
his
guilty
Choice
,
To
bear
Reproaches
doubled
on
her
Ear
,
Yet
only
answer
with
a
silent
Tear
.
Tho'
patient
Wives
must
wait
the
Fate's
good
time
;
Yet
she
,
I
think
,
may
hope
without
a
Crime
.
But
the
grand
Hope
that
yields
perpetual
Joy
,
No
trifles
gave
,
no
trifles
can
destroy
;
With
Mercy
from
the
blest
Abode
it
came
,
Its
Birth
Celestial
and
its
End
the
same
;
That
bids
our
Days
in
one
smooth
Tenor
roll
,
Its
task
to
chear
and
harmonize
the
Soul
.
On
smarting
Want
it
pours
a
healing
Balm
,
Makes
Toil
seem
pleasant
and
Affliction
calm
.