Ah! why have I indulged my dazzled sight
With scenes in Hope’s delusive mirror shewn?
Scenes, that too seldom human life hath known
In more than vision rise;—but O! how bright
The Mind’s soft sorceress pour’d her rosy light
On every promis’d good;—oft on the boon
Which might at Fame’s resounding shrine be won,
Then lanc’d its beams where all the Loves invite!
Now, with stern hand, Fate draws the sable veil
O’er the frail glass!—Hope, as she turns away,
The darken’d crystal drops.—Heavy and pale,
Rain-drizzling clouds quench all the darts of day;
Low mourns the wind along the gloomy dale,
And tolls the death-bell in the pausing gale.