Hope, like the gleaming taper's light, Adorns and cheers our way; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.

To the last moment of his breath On hope the wretch relies; And e'en the pang preceding death Bids expectation rise.

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po.

O Memory! thou fond deceiver.

O light! This is the cry of all the characters of ancient drama brought face to face with their fate. This last resort was ours, too, and I knew it now. In the…

There never was night that had no morn.

Well, right now it seems that things are going very badly for me, have been doing so for some considerable time, and may continue to do so well into the future…