 | Lyrical and other poems |  |
THE LOST HOPE.
It was a cherish'd thought by day—
It was a dream of joy by night;
Wherever Fancy sought to stray,
Thro' wilds or bow'rs, it lent its light.
Pursued with joy and nursed with pride—
They would have deem'd who knew his heart,
That earth had nought of bliss beside—
It was life's better, dearer part!
It was a dream of joy by night;
Wherever Fancy sought to stray,
Thro' wilds or bow'rs, it lent its light.
Pursued with joy and nursed with pride—
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That earth had nought of bliss beside—
It was life's better, dearer part!
His breast the sky, and it the sun,
Sweet thoughts, the birds that carol'd high,
Whose silver voices join'd in one,
Made one rich heaven of melody.
Oh! where was glory's trumpet-tone?
Unsounded then, or heard in vain;
There was a humbler hope—now gone—
Where will he solace meet again?
Sweet thoughts, the birds that carol'd high,
Whose silver voices join'd in one,
Made one rich heaven of melody.
Oh! where was glory's trumpet-tone?
Unsounded then, or heard in vain;
There was a humbler hope—now gone—
Where will he solace meet again?
At morn in smiles his cheek was drest,
Rich thoughts of pleasure fill'd his eye;
At eve, his heart no longer blest,
Became the home of misery.
Go, scan that eye, so lately bright,
And watch'd its same and pallid frost,
Nor marvel, when he meets your sight—
—His bosom's cherish'd hope is lost.
Rich thoughts of pleasure fill'd his eye;
At eve, his heart no longer blest,
Became the home of misery.
Go, scan that eye, so lately bright,
And watch'd its same and pallid frost,
Nor marvel, when he meets your sight—
—His bosom's cherish'd hope is lost.
| Lyrical and other poems | |