Helen Maria Williams (1761?–1827)

O EVER skilled to wear the form we love!

To bid the shapes of fear and grief depart;

Come, gentle Hope! with one gay smile remove

The lasting sadness of an aching heart.

Thy voice, benign enchantress! let me hear;

Say that for me some pleasures yet shall bloom,

That fancy’s radiance, friendship’s precious tear,

Shall soften, or shall chase, misfortune’s gloom.

But come not glowing in the dazzling ray

Which once with dear illusions charmed my eye;

O, strew no more, sweet flatterer! on my way

The flowers I fondly thought too bright to die:

Visions less fair will soothe my pensive breast,

That asks not happiness, but longs for rest.