Classic Poem

TO HOPE .

As the poor Sailor, wreck'd on some lone strand,
Worn out with gazing on the shoreless deep,
Sinks for awhile into the arms of Sleep,
When Fancy wafts him to his native land: —
He clasps his long-lost love with fond delight,
Hears his glad infants lisp his name once more;
He wakes — alone the Ocean meets his sight,
Nor hears he aught, save the rude billow's roar.
Thou flatterer, Hope! thus, cheated by thy wiles,
In sweet delusion have I slumber'd long,
Lull'd by the musick of thy syren song,
The powerful magic of thy winning smiles:
But now, thy transient visions lost in air,
I wake to the drear night of conifortless Despair.