 | Landscapes in verse |  |
But who, alas! may trust the coming dawn?
Or, for the joys which Fancy paints so fair,
Rely upon to-morrow? Who could yet
Chain up the tempest? Who, when not a breeze
Disturbs the azure surface of the main,
Can say, To-morrow shall be calm?—Ah me!
The goodly hopes of earth, and air, and seas,
Are on the mercy of a moment flung;
And often—when their prospects shine most bright,
And the believing heart their promises
Like nectar quaffs, eager as drinks the lark
The sun's first ray, whlle moist with morning dew—
The sweeping whirlwind is most near:—It comes,
(Tears up the cherish'd flower we fondly nurs'd
Ev'n in our bosoms, where we saw it bloom
With Hope's soft tears bedewing it) it comes,
And all is dust:—“O frail humanity!”
Or, for the joys which Fancy paints so fair,
Rely upon to-morrow? Who could yet
Chain up the tempest? Who, when not a breeze
Disturbs the azure surface of the main,
Can say, To-morrow shall be calm?—Ah me!
The goodly hopes of earth, and air, and seas,
Are on the mercy of a moment flung;
And often—when their prospects shine most bright,
And the believing heart their promises
Like nectar quaffs, eager as drinks the lark
The sun's first ray, whlle moist with morning dew—
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(Tears up the cherish'd flower we fondly nurs'd
Ev'n in our bosoms, where we saw it bloom
With Hope's soft tears bedewing it) it comes,
And all is dust:—“O frail humanity!”
| Landscapes in verse | |