TO HADST thou lived in days of old, And thy humid eyes, that dance Of thy dark hair, that extends As the leaves of hellebore And behind each ample curl Peeps the richness of a pearl. Downward too flows many a tress With a glossy waviness, Full, and round like globes that rise From the censer to the skies Through sunny hair. Add too, the sweetness Of thy honied voice; the neatness Of thine ankle lightly turn'd: Round about with eager pry. Thou dipp'st them in the taintless wave; In the coolness of the morn. Hadst thou lived when chivalry Lifted up her lance on high, Tell me what thou wouldst have been? Ah! I see the silver sheen Of thy broider'd-floating vest Covering half thine ivory breast: Has placed a golden cuirass there, Like sunbeams in a cloudlet nested, Thy locks in knightly casque are rested: O'er which bend four milky plumes, O'er his loins, his trappings glow Alas! thou this wilt never do: TO HOPE. WHEN by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope! ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head. Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night, Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray, Should sad Despondency my musings fright, And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away, Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof, And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof. Should Disappointment, parent of Despair, Strive for her son to seize my careless heart When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air, Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart: Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright, And fright him, as the morning frightens night! Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain, To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air! In the long vista of the years to roll, Let me not see our country's honour fade! O let me see our land retain her soul! Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade. From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shedBeneath thy pinions canopy my head! Let me not see the patriot's high bequest, But let me see thee stoop from Heaven on wings That fill the skies with silver glitterings! |