Address to Hope

Thou sun of the spirit, dispersing each cloud,
When the sad sense of danger my bosom would shroud,
Not Spring, as she chases the Winter’s loud storm,
Ever blest the chill earth with a lustre so warm.
O! how had I borne the dire thoughts of the fray,
When War’s cruel voice call’d my lover away,
Had’st not thou, gentle Hope, veil’d the battles’ increase,
And bent thy soft beams on the harbour of Peace!

To cheer and irradiate a bosom like mine,
Can the splendour of Glory be potent as thine?
It plays on the crest of the hero, but shews
Red traces of danger thro’ legions of foes;
It gilds e’en destruction, I know, to the brave,
But to love, what can brighten the gloom of the grave?
Then do thou draw a veil o’er the battle’s fierce gleams,
And on Safety’s dear harbour O! bend thy soft beams!

And now, gentle Hope, art thou faithful as kind,
Not false were thy fires while they shone on my mind;
My hero returns!--the dread danger is o’er,
And, crown’d with new laurels, he speeds to the shore;
Yet to light the dim Future, sweet Hope, do not cease,
Thro’ life let thy torch be the guard of my peace;
That still it may gild the warm day-spring of youth,
As it shone on his safety, now shine on his truth.