Nay, tarry, Hope! for if thou goest,
Then in a world of woes I'm toss'd;
'Tis true thou leav'st a Sister's eye
Dropping like balm beneath the sky;
That sees from far my wishes stray,
And kindly meets them on the way,
Leaving no void within the breast,
But lulling every care to rest.
Yet, goddess, should thy feathery feet
Stray where again we ne'er shall meet;
Shouldst thou just brush the pearly dew
From velvet lawns I never knew;
And shouldst thou leave me far behind,
As weak in frame as weak in mind,
How could this pilgrimage be borne, —
How could I wear life's rankling thorn!
In life's best days, O! smiling stand,
And blandly take the traveller's hand,
Conduct him through the fairy scene, —
"Thy meadows pied and alleys green,"
"Thy vistas long that open day"
And half conceal the length of way,
As fancied visions softly rise
And cheat his eager willing eyes,
Illusions glide in shadowy form,
And waft away the rising storm;
Continue thus thy magic power,
And charm for once the heavy hour,
From present ill the Fancy bear
The painful sufferings into air,
There catch the spirits light and free,
That leave me bless'd with them and thee.