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ANALYSIS OF PART I.

1

The poem opens with a comparison between the beauty of remote objects in a landscape, and those ideal scenes of felicity which the imagination delights to contemplate--the influence of anticipation upon the other passions is next delineated-an allusion is made to the well known fiction in pagan tradition, that, when all the guardian deities of mankind abandoned the world, Hope alone was left behind-the consolations of this passion in situations of danger and distress—the seaman on his midnight watch—the soldier marching into battle-allusion to the interesting adventures of Byron.

The inspiration of Hope, as it actuates the efforts of genius, whether in the department of science or of taste-domestic felicity, how intimely connected with views of future happiness—picture of a mother watching her infant when asleep pictures of the prisoner, the maniac, and the wanderer.

From the consolations of individual misery, a transition is made to prospects of political improvement in the future state of society—the wide field that is yet open for the progress of humanizing arts among uncivilized nations from these views of amelioration of society, and the extension of liberty and truth over despotic and barbarous countries, by melancholy contrast of ideas we are led to reflect upon the hard fate of a brave people, recently conspicuous in their struggles for independence- description of the capture of Warsaw, of the last contest of the oppressors and the oppressed, and the massacre of the Polish patriots at the bridge of Prague-apostrophe to the sell-interested enemies of human improvement-the wrongs of Africa—the barbarous policy of Europeans in India-prophery in the Hindoo mythology of the expected descent of the Deity, to redress the miseries of their race, and to take vengeance on the violators of justice and mercy.

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PLEASURES OF HOPE.

PART I.

At summer eve, when Heav'n's aerial bow
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below,
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky?
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near?-
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.

Thus, with delight, we linger to survey
The promised joys of life’s unmeasured way;
Thus, from afar, each dim-discovered scene
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been ;
And every form, that fancy can repair
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there.

What potent spirit guides the raptured eye
To pierce the shades of dim futurity ?
Can Wisdom lend, with all her heav'nly power,
The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour?.
Ah, no! she darkly sees the fate of man-
Her dim horizon bounded to a span;
Or, if she hold an image to the view,
'Tis Nature pictured too severely true.

With thee, sweet Hope ! resides the heavenly light,
That pours remotest rapture on the sight:
Thine is the charm of life's bewilderd way,
That calls each slumb’ring passion into play:

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Wak’d by thy touch, I see the sister band,
On tiptoe watching, start at thy command,
And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer,
To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career.

Primeval Hope, the Aonian Muses say,
When Man and Nature mourned their first decay;
When
every

form of death, and every wo,
Shot from malignant stars to earth below;
When Murder bared his arm, and rampant War
Yoked the red dragons of her iron car;
When Peace and Mercy, banished from the plain,
Sprung on the viewless winds to Heav'n again;
All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind,
But Hope, the charmer, lingered still behind.

Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare From Carmel's height to sweep the fields of air, The Prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropped on the world—a sacred gift to man.

wo:

Auspicious Hope! in thy sweet garden grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every Won by their sweets, in nature's languid hour The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower; There, as the wild-bee murmurs on the wing, What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring! What viewless forms th' Æolian organ play, And sweep

the furrow'd lines of anxious thought away

Angel of life ! thy glittering wings explore Earth's loneliest bounds, and ocean's 'wildest shore. Lo! to the wint'ry winds the pilot yields His bark careering o'er unfathomed fields ; Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar, Where Andes, giant of the western star,

With meteor standard to the winds unfurled,
Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world.

Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles, On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles : Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, From wastes that slumber in eternal snow; And waft, across the waves' tumultuous roar, The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore.

Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form! Rocks, waves, and winds, the shatter'd bark delay; Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away.

But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep, And sing to charm the spirit of the deep. Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole, Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul : His native hills that rise in happier climes, The grot that heard his song of other times, His cottage-home, his bark of slender sail, His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossomed vale, Rush on his thought; he sweeps before the wind, Treads the loved shore he sighed to leave behind ; . Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, And flies at last to Helen's long embrace ; Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear, And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear! While, long neglected, but at length caressed, His faithful dog salutes the smiling guests Points to the master's eyes (where'er they roam) His wistful face, and whines a welcome home.

Friend of the bravet in peril's darkest hour Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power;.

To thee the beart its trembling homage yields,
On stormy floods, and carnage-covered fields.
When front to front the bannered hosts combine,
Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line;
When all is still on Death's devoted soil,
The march-worn soldier mingles for the toil;
As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high
The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye,
Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come,
And hears thy stormy music in the drum.

And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore
The hardy Byron to his native shore.—a)
In horrid climes, where Chiloe's tempests sweep
Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep,
'Twas his to mourn misfortune's rudest shock,
Scourged by the winds, and cradled on the rock,
To wake each joyless morn, and search again
The famished haunts of solitary men,
-Whose race, unyielding as their native storm,
Knows not a trace of Nature but the form;
Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued,
Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued,
Pierced the deep woods, and, hailing from afar
The moon's pale planet and the northern star;
Paused at each dreary cry, unheard before,
Hyænas in the wild, and mermaids on the shore ;
Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff sublime,
He found a warmer world, a milder clime,
A home to rest, a shelter to defend,
Peace and repose, a Briton and a friend ! (6)

Congenial Hope! thy passion-kindling power, How bright, how strong, in youth's untroubled hour On yon proud height, with Genius hand in hand, I see thee light, and wave thy golden wand.

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