HOPE , AN ALLEGORICAL SKETCH . But thou , O Hope ! with eyes so fair , What was thy delightful measure ? Collins . I am the comforter of them that mourn ; My scenes well shadowed , and my carol sweet , Cheer the poor passengers of life's rude bourne , Till they are sheltered in that last retreat , Where human toils and troubles are forgot . These sounds I heard amid this mortal road , When I had reached with pain one pleasant spot , So that for joy some tears in silence flowed ; I raised mine eyes , sickness had long depressed , And felt thy warmth , O sun ! come cheering to my breast . The storm of night had ceased upon the plain , When thoughtful in the forest-walk I strayed , To the long hollow murmur of the main Listening , and to the many leaves that made A drowsy cadence , as the high trees waved ; When straight a beauteous scene burst on my sight ; Smooth were the waters that the lowland laved : And lo ! a form , as of some fairy sprite , Who held in her right hand a budding spray , And like a sea-maid sung her sweetly warbled lay . Soothing as steals the summer-wave she sung : The grisly phantoms of the night are gone To hear in shades forlorn the death-bell rung ; But thou whom sickness hast left weak and wan , Turn from their spectre-terrors the green sea That whispers at my feet , the matin gale That crisps its shining marge shall solace thee , And thou my long-forgotten voice shalt hail , For I am Hope , whom weary hearts confess The soothest sprite that sings on life's long wilderness . As slowly ceased her tender voice , I stood Delighted : the hard way , so lately passed , Seemed smooth ; the ocean's bright extended flood Before me stretched ; the clouds that overcast Heaven's melancholy vault hurried away , Driven seaward , and the azure hills appeared ; The sunbeams shone upon their summits gray , Strange saddening sounds no more by fits were heard , But birds , in new leaves shrouded , sung aloft , And o'er the level seas Spring's healing airs blew soft . As when a traveller , who many days Hath journeyed ' mid Arabian deserts still , A dreary solitude far on surveys , And met , nor flitting bird , nor gushing rill , But near some marble ruin , gleaming pale , Sighs mindful of the haunts of cheerful man , And thinks he hears in every sickly gale The bells of some approaching caravan ; At length , emerging o'er the dim tract , sees Damascus ' golden fanes , and minarets , and trees : So beat my bosom when my winding way Led through the thickets to a sheltered vale , Where the fair syren sat ; a smooth clear bay Skirted with woods appeared , where many a sail Went shining o'er the watery surface still , Lessening at last in the gray ocean flood ; And yonder , half-way up the fronting hill , Peeping from forth the trees , a cottage stood , Above whose peaceful umbrage , trailing high , A little smoke went up , and stained the cloudless sky . I turned , and lo ! a mountain seemed to rise , Upon whose top a spiry citadel Lifted its dim-seen turrets to the skies , Where some high lord of the domain might dwell ; And onward , where the eye scarce stretched its sight , Hills over hills in long succession rose , Touched with a softer and yet softer light , And all was blended as in deep repose ; The woods , the sea , the hills that shone so fair , Till woods , and sea , and hills seemed fading into air . At once , methought , I saw a various throng To this enchanting spot their footsteps bend ; All drawn , sweet Hope ! by thy inspiring song , Which melodies scarce mortal seem to blend . First buxom Youth , with cheeks of glowing red , Came lightly tripping o'er the morning dew , He wore a harebell garland on his head , And stretched his hands at the bright-bursting view : A mountain fawn went bounding by his side , Around whose slender neck a silver bell was tied . Then said I : Mistress of the magic song , Oh , pity 'twere that hearts that know no guile Should ever feel the pangs of truth or wrong ! She heeded not , but sang with lovelier smile : Enjoy , O youth , the season of thy May ; Hark , how the throstles in the hawthorn sing ! The hoary Time , that resteth night nor day , O'er the earth's shade may speed with noiseless wing ; But heed not thou ; snatch the brief joys that rise , And sport beneath the light of these unclouded skies . His fine eye flashing an unwonted fire , Then Fancy o'er the glade delighted went ; He struck at times a small and silver lyre , Or gazed upon the rolling element ; Sometimes he took his mirror , which did show The various landscape lovelier than the life ; Beaming more bright the vivid tints did glow , And so well mingled was the colours ' strife , That the fond heart , the beauteous shades once seen , Would sigh for such retreats , for vales and woods so green ! Gay was his aspect , and his airy vest , As loose it flowed , such colours did display , As paint the clouds reposing in the west , Or the moist rainbow's radiant arch inlay ; And now he tripped , like fairy of the wood , And seemed with dancing spirits to rejoice , And now he hung his head in pensive mood : Meantime , O Hope ! he listened to thy voice , And whilst of joy and youth it cheerly sung , He touched his answering harp , and o'er the valley sprung . Pleasure , a frolic nymph , to the glad sound Came dancing , as all tears she might forget ; And now she gazed with a sweet archness round , And wantonly displayed a silken net : She won her way with fascinating air — Her eyes illumined with a tender light , Her smile's strange blandishment , her shaded hair That lengthening hung , her teeth as ivory white , That peeped from her moist lip , seemed to inspire Tumultuous wishes warm , and dreams of fond desire . What softer passions did thy bosom move , When those melodious measures met thine ear , Child of Sincerity , and virtuous Love ! Thine eyes did shine beneath a blissful tear That still were turned towards the tranquil scene , Where the thin smoke rose from the embowered cot ; And thou didst think , that there , with smile serene , In quiet shades , and every pang forgot , Thou mightest sink on pure Affection's breast , And listen to the winds that whispered thee to rest . I thought , O Love , how seldom art thou found Without annoyance in this earthly state ! For , haply , thou dost feed some rankling wound , Or on thy youth pale poverty doth wait , Till years , on heavy wing , have rolled away ; Or where thou most didst hope firm faith to see , Thou meetest fickleness estranged and cold ; Or if some true and tender heart there be , On which , through every change , thy soul might trust , Death comes with his fell dart , and smites it to the dust ! But lusty Enterprise , with looks of glee , Approached the drooping youth , as he would say , Come to the high woods and the hills with me , And cast thy sullen myrtle-wreath away . Upon a neighing courser he did sit , That stretched its arched neck , in conscious pride , And champed as with disdain a golden bit , But Hope her animating voice applied , And Enterprise with speed impetuous passed , Whilst the long vale returned his wreathed bugle's blast . Suddenly , lifting high his ponderous spear , A mailed man came forth with scornful pride , I saw him , towering in his proud career , Along the valley with a giant stride : Upon his helm , in letters of bright gold , That to the sun's meridian splendour shone , Ambition's name far off I might behold . Meantime from earth there came a hollow moan ; But Fame , who followed , her loud trumpet blew , And to the murmuring beach with eyes a-flame he flew . And now already had he gained the strand , Where a tall vessel rode with sail unfurled , And soon he thought to reach the farther land , Which to his eager eye seemed like a world That he by strength might win and make his own ; And in that citadel , which shone so bright , Seat him , a purple sovereign , on his throne . So he went tilting o'er the waters white , And whilst he oft looked back with stern disdain , In louder tone , methought , was heard the inspiring strain : By the shade of cities old , Written at the time of Bonaparte's expedition to Egypt . By many a river stained with gore , By the sword of Sesac bold , Who smote the nations from the shore Of ancient Nile to India's farthest plain , By Fame's proud pillars , and by Valour's shield By mighty chiefs in glorious battle slain , Assert thy sway ; amid the bloody field Pursue thy march , and to the heights sublime Of Honour's glittering cliffs , a mighty conqueror climb ! Then said I , in my heart : Man , thou dost rear Thine eye to heaven , and vaunt thy lofty worth ; The ensign of dominion thou dost bear O'er nature's works ; but thou dost oft go forth , Urged by proud hopes to ravage and destroy , Thou dost build up a name by cruel deeds ; Whilst to the peaceful scenes of love and joy , Sorrow , and crime , and solitude , succeeds . Hence , when her war-song Victory doth sing , Destruction flaps aloft her iron-hurtling wing . But see , as one awakened from a trance , With hollow and dim eyes and stony stare , Captivity with faltering step advance ! Dripping and knotted was her coal-black hair ; For she had long been hid , as in the grave ; No sounds the silence of her prison broke , Nor one companion had she in her cave , Save Terror's dismal shape , that no word spoke ; But to a stony coffin on the floor With lean and hideous finger pointed evermore . The lark's shrill song , the early village chime , The upland echo of the winding horn , The far-heard clock that spoke the passing time , Had never pierced her solitude forlorn ; At length , released from the deep dungeon's gloom , She feels the fragrance of the vernal gale ; She sees more sweet the living landscape bloom , And while she listens to Hope's tender tale , She thinks her long-lost friends shall bless her sight , And almost faints with joy amid the broad daylight . And near the spot , as with reluctant feet , Slowly desponding Melancholy drew , The wind and rain her naked breast had beat , Sunk was her eye , and sallow was her hue : In the huge forest's unrejoicing shade Bewildered had she wandered day by day , And many a grisly fiend her heart dismayed , And cold and wet upon the ground she lay ; But now such sounds with mellow sweetness stole , As lapped in dreams of bliss her slow-consenting soul . Next , to the woody glen poor Mania strayed , Most pale and wild , yet gentle was her look ; A slender garland she of straw had made , Of flowers and rushes from the running brook ; But as she sadly passed , the tender sound Of its sharp pang her wounded heart beguiled ; She dropped her half-made garland on the ground , And then she sighed , and then in tears she smiled : But in such sort , that Pity would have said , O God , be merciful to that poor hapless maid ! Now ravingly she cried : The whelming main — The wintry wave rolls over his cold head ; I never shall behold his form again ; Hence flattering fancies — he is dead , is dead ! Perhaps on some wild shore he may be cast , Where on their prey barbarians howling rush , Oh , fiercer they , than is the whelming blast ! Hush , my poor heart ! my wakeful sorrows , hush ! He lives ! I yet shall press him to my heart , And cry , Oh no , no , no , — we never more will part ! So sang she , when despairing , from his cell , Hid furthest in the lone umbrageous wood , Where many a winter he had loved to dwell , Came grim Remorse ; fixed in deep thought he stood , His senses pierced by the unwonted tone ; Some stagnant blood-drops from his locks he shook ; He saw the trees that waved , the sun that shone , He cast around an agonised look ; Then with a ghastly smile , that spoke his pain , He hied him to his cave in thickest shades again . And now the sun sank westward , and the sky Was hung with thousand lucid pictures gay ; When gazing on the scene with placid eye , An ancient man appeared in amice gray ; His sandal shoes were by long travel worn , O'er hill and valley , many a weary mile , Yet drooped he not , like one in years forlorn ; His pale cheek wore a sad , but tender smile ; 'Twas sage Experience , by his look confessed , And white as frost his beard descended to his breast . Thus said I : Master , pleasant is this place , And sweet are those melodious notes I hear , And happy they among man's toiling race Who , of their cares forgetful , wander near ; Me they delight , whom sickness and slow pain Have bowed almost to death with heavy hand ; The fairy scenes refresh my heart again , And , pleased , I listen to that music bland , Which seems to promise hours of joy to come , And bids me tranquil seek my poor but peaceful home . That of a village curate . He said : Alas ! these shadows soon may fly , Like the gay creatures of the element ; Yet do poor mortals still with raptured eye Behold like thee the pictures they present ; And , charmed by Hope's sweet music , on they fare , And think they soon shall reach that blissful goal , Where never more the sullen knell of Care For buried friends and severed loves shall toll : So on they fare , till all their troubles cease , And on a lap of earth they lie them down in peace . But not there ceases their immortal claim ; From golden clouds I heard a small voice say : Wisdom rejoiceth in a higher aim , Nor heeds the transient shadows of a day ; These earthly sounds may die away , and all These perishable pictures sink in night , But Virtue from the dust her sons shall call , And lead them forth to joy , and life , and light ; Though from their languid grasp earth's comforts fly , And with the silent worm their buried bodies lie . For other scenes there are ; and in a clime Purer , and other strains to earth unknown , Where heaven's high host , with symphonies sublime , Sing unto Him that sitteth on the throne . Enough for man , if he the task fulfil Which God ordained , and to his journey's end Bear him right on , betide him good or ill ; Then Hope to soothe his death-bed shall descend , Nor leave him , till in mansions of the blest He gains his destined home , his everlasting rest .