HOPE. Man hath a weary pilgrimage Yet gentle Hope on every stage, And if the toil-worn traveller droops, With heaviness opprest, She cheers his heart, and bids him see The diftant place of rest. To school the little exile goes, And quits his mother's arms; What then shall soothe his earliest woes, When novelty has lost its charms? Condemned to suffer thro' the day Restraints that no rewards repay, And cares where love has no concern; If memory still the present sours, Hope lightens as she counts the hours. That hasten his return. Youth comes, and eager fancy hails Youth comes, and he is doom'd to prove And all its long delays. But when the passions with their might Afflict the doubtful breast, Hope bids him yet expect delight, And happiness, and rest. When manhood comes with troubles rife, And all the toils and cares of life Usurp the busy mind, Where shall the tir'd and harrass'd heart Its consolation find. Hope doubts not yet the meed to obtain Of difficulties past, And looks beyond the toils of gain To wealth enjoy'd at last. So to his journey's latter stage And then he finds in wiser age Yet Hope the constant friend remains By Faith and Hope in life's last hour That cannot be deceived.. R. MUSINGS On the WIG of a SCARE-CROW. Alas for this world's changes and the lot Or whether on some stern Schoolmaster's brow Sate its white terrors, who shall answer now? On yonder rag-robed pole for many a day Have those dishonour'd locks endur'd the rains And winds, and summer sun, and winter snow, Scaring with vain alarms the robber crow, |