ANALYSIS.-PART I. THE Poem opens with a comparison between the beauty of remote objects in a landscape, and those ideal scenes of felicity which the imagination delights to contemplate the influence of anticipation upon the other passions is next delineated an allusion is made to the well-known fiction in Pagan tradition, that, when all the guardian deities of mankind abandoned the world, Hope alone was left behind-the consolations of this passion in situations of danger and distress-the seaman on his watch the soldier marching into battleallusion to the interesting adventures of Byron. The inspiration of Hope, as it actuates the efforts of genius, whether in the department of science, or of taste-domestic felicity, how intimately connected with views of future happiness-picture of a mother watching her infant when asleep-pictures of the prisoner, the maniac, and the wanderer. From the consolations of individual misery a transition is made to prospects of political improvement in the future state of society-the wide field that is yet open for the progress of humanising arts among uncivilised nations--from these views of amelioration of society, and the extension of liberty and truth over despotic and barbarous countries, by a melancholy contrast of ideas, we are led to reflect upon the hard fate of a brave people recently conspicuous in their struggles for independence-description of the capture of Warsaw, of the last contest of the oppressors and the oppressed, and the massacre of the Polish patriots at the bridge of Prague-apostrophe to the self-interested enemies of human improvement-the wrongs of Africa-the barbarous policy of Europeans in India—prophecy in the Hindoo mythology of the expected descent of the Deity to redress the miseries of their race, and to take vengeance on the violators of justice and mercy. Ar summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow B Thus, from afar, each dim-discovered scene With thee, sweet HOPE! resides the heavenly light, The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Auspicious HOPE! in thy sweet garden grow And sweep the furrow'd lines of anxious thought away. Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore. Lo! to the wintry winds the pilot yields Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, But HOPE can here her moonlight vigils keep, And sing to charm the spirit of the deep : Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole, Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul; His native hills that rise in happier climes, The grot that heard his song of other times, His cottage home, his bark of slender sail, His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossom'd vale, Rush on his thought; he sweeps before the wind, Treads the loved shore he sigh'd to leave behind; Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, And flies at last to Helen's long embrace; Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear! And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear! While, long neglected, but at length caress'd, His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest, |