A
CALL
TO
HOPE
.
22D
MAY
,
1792.
WRITTEN
AFTER
A
LONG
ILLNESS
,
AND
NOT
EXPECTING
TO
RECOVER
.
STAY
,
Hope
,
and
hear
thy
votary's
prayer
,
Nor
spread
thy
filmy
wings
in
air
;
Those
painted
pinions
light
and
gay
Must
they
then
waft
thee
far
away
?
Must
they
then
spread
before
my
sight
,
And
shade
me
into
deepest
night
?
See
where
I've
deck'd
thy
once
lov'd
shrine
See
what
gay
flowers
thy
bust
entwine
!
The
morning
rose
that
fades
ere
noon
,
Buds
promising
to
blow
full
soon
,
The
first
green
leaf
that
nature
spreads
,
The
first
flowers
rising
from
their
beds
,
The
daisy
ever
fond
to
blow
,
And
the
sweet
drop
that's
wrapp'd
in
snow
All
these
an
offering
oft
I've
paid
,
As
at
thy
shrine
I
fondly
pray'd
;
Still
didst
thou
promise
thou
wouldst
be
,
Next
to
fond
Fancy
,
kind
to
me
.
When
gay
Hygea
used
to
frown
,
And
chain
my
rising
wishes
down
;
When
she
beyond
yon
hill
would
stray
,
And
leave
my
sight
a
length
of
way
;
Then
thou
wouldst
come
,
and
with
a
smile
Half
charm
the
weary
hour
the
while
,
Drawing
a
landscape
sweet
and
fair
That
mingl'd
with
the
softest
air
,
And
painted
Days
of
other
hue
,
And
Evenings
spangl'd
o'er
with
dew
,
And
Hours
that
,
laughing
as
they
trode
,
Left
a
flower-circle
on
the
sod
.
Then
dost
thou
fly
me
?
—
Goddess
,
stay
!
Seest
thou
where
Sickness
chains
the
day
?
Seest
thou
what
loads
'tis
forc'd
to
bear
,
And
drag
around
the
weary
year
?
See
!
see
!
she
now
arrests
my
breath
,
And
almost
threatens
instant
death
;
A
lifeless
calm
she
now
demands
,
And
ties
my
weak
unmoving
hands
.
No
more
my
fingers
seek
the
lyre
,
And
wildly
sweep
along
the
wire
,
—
The
trembling
wire
that
oft
has
found
The
softest
way
to
sweetest
sound
,
And
thrilling
yet
along
the
line
Would
aid
this
falling
note
of
mine
,
Then
melting
with
the
plaintive
air
Seem'd
a
weak
sort
of
echo
there
;
Or
when
the
sprightly
notes
would
swell
Of
some
sweet
halcyon
days
to
tell
,
And
Memory
spring
at
every
note
,
Till
all
her
visions
round
me
float
,
And
friends
appear
—
the
distant
far
—
Led
by
Affection's
polar
star
,
And
round
me
throng
with
tender
zeal
,
And
make
me
think
'tis
bliss
to
feel
,
Which
,
though
the
pleasure
leads
to
pain
,
Persuades
it
is
not
given
in
vain
.
Nay
,
tarry
,
Hope
!
for
if
thou
goest
,
Then
in
a
world
of
woes
I'm
toss'd
;
'Tis
true
thou
leav'st
a
Sister's
eye
Dropping
like
balm
beneath
the
sky
;
That
sees
from
far
my
wishes
stray
,
And
kindly
meets
them
on
the
way
,
Leaving
no
void
within
the
breast
,
But
lulling
every
care
to
rest
.
Yet
,
goddess
,
should
thy
feathery
feet
Stray
where
again
we
ne'er
shall
meet
;
Shouldst
thou
just
brush
the
pearly
dew
From
velvet
lawns
I
never
knew
;
And
shouldst
thou
leave
me
far
behind
,
As
weak
in
frame
as
weak
in
mind
,
How
could
this
pilgrimage
be
borne
,
—
How
could
I
wear
life's
rankling
thorn
!
In
life's
best
days
,
O
!
smiling
stand
,
And
blandly
take
the
traveller's
hand
,
Conduct
him
through
the
fairy
scene
,
—
"
Thy
meadows
pied
and
alleys
green
,
"
"
Thy
vistas
long
that
open
day
"
And
half
conceal
the
length
of
way
,
As
fancied
visions
softly
rise
And
cheat
his
eager
willing
eyes
,
Illusions
glide
in
shadowy
form
,
And
waft
away
the
rising
storm
;
Continue
thus
thy
magic
power
,
And
charm
for
once
the
heavy
hour
,
From
present
ill
the
Fancy
bear
The
painful
sufferings
into
air
,
There
catch
the
spirits
light
and
free
,
That
leave
me
bless'd
with
them
and
thee
.