 | Poems |  |
39
HOPE AND FEAR.
Two Pilgrims, Hope and Fear, agreed,
To Pleasure's Altar They'd proceed,
And sacrifice together;
Fair Hope was young; but Fear was old,
And drooped with heat, and shrunk with cold,
While Hope still praised the weather.
To Pleasure's Altar They'd proceed,
And sacrifice together;
Fair Hope was young; but Fear was old,
And drooped with heat, and shrunk with cold,
While Hope still praised the weather.
Quoth Fear,—“I guess, ere long 'twill rain!”—
—“And then,” said Hope, “'twill clear again.”—
—“Yon rock, so steep and frightful,
To climb,” said Fear, “'twere vain to try!”—
—“Oh! yes, we will,” was Hope's reply;
“The view must be delightful!”—
—“And then,” said Hope, “'twill clear again.”—
—“Yon rock, so steep and frightful,
To climb,” said Fear, “'twere vain to try!”—
—“Oh! yes, we will,” was Hope's reply;
“The view must be delightful!”—
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—“I'm sure,” said Fear, “we've missed the way,
And ne'er shall reach the shrine to-day;
My strength, my spirits falter!”—
—“On! On!” said Hope, “I know, we're right!”—
And oft mistook the Northern Light
For lamps on Pleasure's Altar!
And ne'er shall reach the shrine to-day;
My strength, my spirits falter!”—
—“On! On!” said Hope, “I know, we're right!”—
And oft mistook the Northern Light
For lamps on Pleasure's Altar!
At length they reached the blooming Fane
In spite of danger, toil, and pain,
Rough ways, and stormy weather;
When lo! From Pleasure's torch there came
A flash of roseate fire, whose flame
Killed Hope and Fear together.
In spite of danger, toil, and pain,
Rough ways, and stormy weather;
When lo! From Pleasure's torch there came
A flash of roseate fire, whose flame
Killed Hope and Fear together.
Hope, while she lived, was well beloved;
Yet when she died, no soul was moved
To feel one hour's depression,
All thought her place so well supplied
By mild Content's cœlestial Bride,
Whom Mortals call—“Possession!”—
Yet when she died, no soul was moved
To feel one hour's depression,
All thought her place so well supplied
By mild Content's cœlestial Bride,
Whom Mortals call—“Possession!”—
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