THE PLEASURES OF HOPE.

PART II.

ANALYSIS.

APOSTROPHE to the power of love-its intimate connexion with generous and social sensibility-allusion to that beautiful passage in the beginning of the book of Genesis, which represents the happiness of Paradise itself incomplete, till love was superadded to its other blessings-the dreams of future felicity which a lively imagination is apt to cherish, when hope is animated by refined attachment-this disposition to combine, in one imaginary scene of residence, all that is pleasing in our estimate of happiness, compared to the skill of the great artist, who personified perfect beauty, in the picture of Venus, by an assemblage of the most beautiful features he could find-a summer and winter evening described, as they may be supposed to arise in the mind of one who wishes, with enthusiasm, for the union of friendship and retirement.

Hope and imagination inseparable agents-even in those contemplative moments when our imagination wanders beyond the boundaries of this world, our minds are not unattended with an impression that we shall some day have a wider and more distinct prospect of the universe, instead of the partial glimpse we now enjoy.

The last and most sublime influence of hope, is the con

cluding topic of the poem,-the predominance of a belief in a future state over the terrors attendant on dissolution-the baneful influence of that sceptical philosophy which bars us from such comforts-allusion to the fate of a suicide-Episode of Conrad and Ellenore-Conclusion.

THE

PLEASURES OF HOPE.

PART II.

In joyous youth, what soul hath never known Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own? Who hath not paused while beauty's pensive eye Ask'd from his heart the homage of a sigh? Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame, The power of grace, the magic of a name?

There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow; There be, whose loveless wisdom never fail'd, In self-adoring pride securely mail'd; But, triumph not, ye peace-enamour'd few! Fire, nature, genius, never dwelt with you! For you no fancy consecrates the scene Where rapture utter'd vows, and wept between ; 'Tis yours, unmoved to sever and to meet; No pledge is sacred, and no home is sweet!

Who that would ask a heart to dulness wed, The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead?

No: the wild bliss of nature needs alloy,
And care and sorrow fan the fire of joy!
And say, without our hopes, without our fears,
Without the home that plighted love endears,
Without the smiles from partial beauty won,
O! what were man? a world without a sun!

Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour,
There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower!
In vain the viewless seraph lingering there,
At starry midnight charm'd the silent air;
In vain the wild bird caroll'd on the steep,
To hail the sun, slow-wheeling from the deep;
In vain, to soothe the solitary shade,
Aërial notes in mingling measure play'd;
The summer wind that shook the spangled tree,
The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee;—
Still slowly pass'd the melancholy day,

And still the stranger wist not where to stray,-
The world was sad !-the garden was a wild!
And man, the hermit, sigh'd-till woman smiled!

True, the sad power to generous hearts may bring Delirious anguish on his fiery wing!

Barr'd from delight by fate's untimely hand,
By wealthless lot, or pitiless command!
Or doom'd to gaze on beauties that adorn
The smile of triumph, or the frown of scorn;
While memory watches o'er the sad review
Of joys that faded like the morning dew!

Peace may depart-and life and nature seem
A barren path—a wilderness, and dream!

But, can the noble mind for ever brood,
The willing victim of a weary mood,
On heartless cares that squander life away,
And cloud young genius brightening into day?
Shame to the coward thought that e'er betray'd
The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade! (a)
If hope's creative spirit cannot raise

One trophy sacred to thy future days,

Scorn the dull crowd that haunt the gloomy shrine
Of hopeless love to murmur and repine!
But, should a sigh of milder mood express
Thy heart-warm wishes, true to happiness,
Should Heaven's fair harbinger delight to pour
Her blissful visions on thy pensive hour,
No tear to blot thy memory's pictured page,
No fears but such as fancy can assuage;
Though thy wild heart some hapless hour may miss,
The peaceful tenour of unvaried bliss,
(For love pursues an ever-devious race,
True to the winding lineaments of grace ;)
Yet still may hope her talisman employ
To snatch from heaven anticipated joy,
And all her kindred energies impart
That burn the brightest in the purest heart!

When first the Rhodian's mimic art array'd The queen of beauty in her Cyprian shade,