Hope was but a timid friend;

She sat without the grated den,

Watching how my fate would tend,

Even as selfish-hearted men.

 

She was cruel in her fear;

Through the bars, one dreary day,

I looked out to see her there,

And she turned her face away!

 

Like a false guard, false watch keeping,

Still, in strife, she whispered peace;

She would sing while I was weeping;

If I would listened, she would cease.

 

False she was, and unrelenting;

When my last joys strewed the ground,

Even sorrow saw, repenting,

Those sad relics scattered round;

 

Hope, whose whisper would have given

Balm to all my frenzied pain,

Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,

Went, and ne’er returned again!

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