He hears how feeble Pleasure dies, By guilt destroyed, and pain and woe;He turns to Hope--and she replies, "Believe it not-it is not so!"
"Oh, heed her not!" Experience says;"For thus she whispered once to me;She told me, in my youthful days, How glorious manhood's prime would be.
"When, in the time of early Spring, Too chill the winds that o'er me pass'd, She said, each coming day would bring a fairer heaven, a gentler blast.
"And when the sun too seldom beamed, The sky, o'ercast, too darkly frowned, The soaking rain too constant streamed, And mists too dreary gathered round;"She told me, Summer's glorious ray Would chase those vapours all away, And scatter glories round;With sweetest music fill the trees, Load with rich scent the gentle breeze, And strew with flowers the ground "But when, beneath that scorching ray, I languished, weary through the day, While birds refused to sing, Verdure decayed from field and tree, And panting Nature mourned with me The freshness of the Spring.
"'Wait but a little while,' she said, 'Till Summer's burning days are fled;And Autumn shall restore, With golden riches of her own, And Summer's glories mellowed down, The freshness you deplore.'
And long I waited, but in vain:
That freshness never came again, Though Summer passed away, Though Autumn's mists hung cold and chill.
And drooping nature languished still, And sank into decay.
"Till wintry blasts foreboding blew Through leafless trees--and then I knew That Hope was all a dream.
But thus, fond youth, she cheated me;And she will prove as false to thee, Though sweet her words may seem.
Stern prophet! Cease thy bodings dire--
Thou canst not quench the ardent fire That warms the breast of youth.
Oh, let it cheer him while it may, And gently, gently die away--
Chilled by the damps of truth!
Tell him, that earth is not our rest;Its joys are empty--frail at best;And point beyond the sky.
But gleams of light may reach us here;And hope the ROUGHEST path can cheer: