Hope Was but a timid friend； She sat without the grated den¹, Watching how my fate would tend, Even as selfish-hearted men.

    She was cruel in her fear； Through the bars one dreary² day, I looked out to see her there, And she turned her face away！

    Like a false guard, false watch keeping, Still, in strife³, she whispered peace； She would sing while I was weeping； If I listened, she would cease.

    False she was, and unrelenting； When my last joys strewed⁴ the ground, Even Sorrow saw, repenting⁵, Those sad relics⁶ scattered⁷ round；

    Hope, whose whisper would have given Balm to all my frenzied⁸ pain, Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, Went, and ne'er returned again！