HOPE.

Imitated from the Italian of SERAFINO AQUILANO.

HOPE, unyielding to Despair,

Springs for ever fresh and fair;

Earth's serenest prospects fly,

Hope's enchantments never die.

At Fortune's frown, in evil hour,

Though honour, wealth, and friends depart,

She cannot drive, with all her power,

This lonely solace from the heart:

And while this the soul sustains,

Fortune still unchanged remains;
Wheresoe'er her wheel she guides,

Hope upon the circle rides.

The Syrens, deep in ocean's caves,

Sing while abroad the tempests roar,

Expecting soon the frantic waves

To ripple on a smiling shore:

In the whirlwind, o'er the spray,

They behold the halcyon play;

And through midnight clouds afar,
Hope lights up the morning star.

This pledge of bliss in future years
Makes smooth and easy every toil;

The swain, who sows the waste with tears,

In fancy reaps a teeming soil:

What though mildew blight his joy,

Frost or flood his crops destroy,

War compel his feet to roam,

Hope still carols Harvest Home!

The monarch exiled from his realm,

The slave in fetters at the oar,

The seaman sinking by the helm,
The captive on his dungeon floor;

All through peril, pain, and death,
Fondly cling to parting breath;
Glory, freedom, power, are past,

But the dream of Hope will last.

Weary and faint, with sickness worn,

Blind, lame, and deaf, and bent with age,

By man the load of life is borne

To his last step of pilgrimage:

Though the branch no longer shoot,

Vigour lingers at the root,

And in Winter's dreariest day,

Hope foretells returning May.

When, wrung with guilt, the wretch would end

His gloomy days in sudden night,

Hope comes, an unexpected friend,

To win him back to hated light:

"Hold!" she cries; and from his hand

Plucks the suicidal brand;

"Now await a happier doom,

"Hope will cheer thee to the tomb."

When Virtue droops, as comforts fail,

And sore afflictions press the mind,

Sweet Hope prolongs her pleasing tale,

Till all the world again looks kind:

Round the good man's dying bed,

Were the wreck of Nature spread,

Hope would set his spirit free,

Crying" Immortality!"

A MOTHER'S LOVE.

A MOTHER'S Love,-how sweet the name!

What is a Mother's love?

-A noble, pure, and tender flame,

Enkindled from above,

To bless a heart of earthly mould;

The warmest love that can grow cold;

This is a Mother's Love.

To bring a helpless babe to light,

Then while it lies forlorn,

To gaze upon that dearest sight,

And feel herself new-born,