TO THE SAME.

Like nightly watchers from a palace tower, In hope and faith and patience strong to wait The beacons on the hills, which should relate How some fenced city of deceit and power Had fallen—ye have stood for many an hour, Till your first hope’s high movements must be dead, And if with new ye have not cheered and fed Your bosoms, dim despair may be your dower. Yet not for all—tho’ yet no fire may crest The mountains, or light up their beacons sere— Your eminent commission so far wrong, Or so much flatter the oppressors’ rest, As to give o’er your watching, for so long As ye shall hope, ’tis reason they must fear.