Oh hope, thou soother sweet of human woes! How shall I lure thee to my haunts forlorn? For me wilt thou renew the wither'd rose, And clear my painful path of pointed thorn? Ah come, sweet nymph, in smiles and softness drest, Like the young hours that lead the tender year. Enchantress come, and charm my cares to rest. Alas, the flatt'rer flies, and will not hear.