| |
| HOPE rules a land for ever green: | |
| All powers that serve the bright-eyed Queen | |
| Are confident and gay; | |
| Clouds at her bidding disappear; | |
| Points she to aught?—the bliss draws near, | 5 |
| And Fancy smooths the way. | |
| |
| Not such the land of Wishes—there | |
| Dwell fruitless day-dreams, lawless prayer, | |
| And thoughts with things at strife; | |
| Yet how forlorn, should ye depart, | 10 |
| Ye superstitions of the heart, | |
| How poor, were human life! | |
| |
| When magic lore abjured its might, | |
| Ye did not forfeit one dear right, | |
| One tender claim abate; | 15 |
| Witness this symbol of your sway, | |
| Surviving near the public way, | |
| The rustic Wishing-gate! | |
| |
| Inquire not if the faery race | |
| Shed kindly influence on the place, | 20 |
| Ere northward they retired; | |
| If here a warrior left a spell, | |
| Panting for glory as he fell; | |
| Or here a saint expired. | |
| |
| Enough that all around is fair, | 25 |
| Composed with Nature’s finest care, | |
| And in her fondest love— | |
| Peace to embosom and content— | |
| To overawe the turbulent, | |
| The selfish to reprove. | 30 |
| |
| Yea! even the Stranger from afar, | |
| Reclining on this moss-grown bar, | |
| Unknowing, and unknown, | |
| The infection of the ground partakes, | |
| Longing for his Beloved—who makes | 35 |
| All happiness her own. | |
| |
| Then why should conscious Spirits fear | |
| The mystic stirrings that are here, | |
| The ancient faith disclaim? | |
| The local Genius ne’er befriends | 40 |
| Desires whose course in folly ends, | |
| Whose just reward is shame. | |
| |
| Smile if thou wilt, but not in scorn, | |
| If some, by ceaseless pains outworn, | |
| Here crave an easier lot; | 45 |
| If some have thirsted to renew | |
| A broken vow, or bind a true, | |
| With firmer, holier knot. | |
| |
| And not in vain, when thoughts are cast | |
| Upon the irrevocable past, | 50 |
| Some Penitent sincere | |
| May for a worthier future sigh, | |
| While trickles from his downcast eye | |
| No unavailing tear. | |
| |
| The Worldling, pining to be freed | 55 |
| From turmoil, who would turn or speed | |
| The current of his fate, | |
| Might stop before this favoured scene, | |
| At Nature’s call, nor blush to lean | |
| Upon the Wishing-gate. | 60 |
| |
| The Sage, who feels how blind, how weak | |
| Is man, though loth such help to seek, | |
| Yet, passing, here might pause, | |
| And thirst for insight to allay | |
| Misgiving, while the crimson day | 65 |
| In quietness withdraws; | |
| |
| Or when the church-clock’s knell profound | |
| To Time’s first step across the bound | |
| Of midnight makes reply; | |
| Time pressing on with starry crest, | 70 |
| To filial sleep upon the breast | |
| Of dread eternity. | |
| |
