All may be well to-morrow.”
“Alas!” cries Grief, “no leisure hour
The Gods assign my fate;
On love or friendship, fame or power,
I’m ever doom’d to wait.”
“Never,” cries Hope, with winning smile,
“Nourish my foe Despair;
Yon hamlet see, let’s join awhile
The boys at see-saw there.”
Now purple lights and balmy gales