The Visionary Hope

Sad lot, to have no Hope! Tho' lowly kneeling,He fain would frame a prayer within his breast,Would fain intreat for some sweet breath of healing,That his sick body might have ease and rest;He strove in vain! the dull sighs from his chestAgainst his will the stifling load revealing.Tho' Nature forc'd; tho' like some captive guestSome royal prisoner at his conqueror's feast,An alien's restless mood but half concealing,The sternness on his gentle brow confestSickness within and miserable feeling:Tho' obscure pangs made curses of his dreams,And dreaded sleep, each night repell'd in vain,Each night was scatter'd by its own loud screams:Yet never could his heart command, tho' fain,One deep full wish to be no more in pain.

That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast,Which wan'd and died, yet ever near him stood,

Tho' chang'd in nature, wander where he wou'd—For Love's Despair is but Hope's pining Ghost!For this one hope he makes his hourly moan,He wishes and can wish for this alone!Pierc'd, as with light from Heaven, before its gleams(So the love-stricken visionary deems)Disease would vanish, like a summer shower,Whose dews fling sunshine from the noon-tide bower!Or let it stay! yet this one Hope should giveSuch strength that he would bless his pains and live.