THE HAWTHORN. 
91 
ILLUSTRATION OP THE SENTIMENT. 
When by my solitary hearth I sit, 
And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; 
When no fair dreams before my “ mind’s eye ” flit, 
And the hare heath of life presents no bloom— 
Sweet Hope! ethereal halm upon me shed. 
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head. 
Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night. 
Where woven houghs shut out the moon’s bright ray, 
Should sad despondency my musing fright, 
And frown to drive fair cheerfulness away, 
Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof. 
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof. 
Should Disappointment, parent of Despair, 
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart. 
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air, 
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart. 
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright, 
And fright him as the morning frightens night! 
Whene’er the fate of those I hold most dear 
Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow, 
O, bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer— 
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow— 
Thy heaven-born radiance round me shed, 
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head! 
