Collected Poetical Works of Mary Robinson

by Mary Robinson

YES, darling Songstress! when of late

  I sought thy leafy-fringed bow’r,

  The victim of relentless fate,

  Fading in life’s dark ling’ring hour,

  Thou heard’st my plaint, and pour’d thy strain

  Thro’ the sad mansion of my breast,

  And softly, sweetly lull’d to rest

  The throbbing anguish of my brain.

  AH! while I tread this vale of woe,

  Still may thy downy measures flow,

  To wing my solitary hours

  With kind, obliterating pow’rs;

  And tho’ my pensive, patient heart

  No wild, extatic bliss shall prove,

  Tho’ life no raptures shall impart,

  No boundless joy, or, madd’ning love,

  Sweet NIGHTINGALE, thy lenient strain

  Shall mock Despair, AND BLUNT THE SHAFT OF PAIN.

  ODE ON ADVERSITY.

  WHERE o’er my head, the deaf’ning Tempest blew,

  And Night’s cold lamp cast forth a feeble ray;

  Where o’er the woodlands, vivid light’nings flew,

  Cleft the strong oak, and scorch’d the blossom’d spray;

  At morn’s approach, I mark the sun’s warm glow

  O’er the grey hill a crimson radiance throw;

  I mark the silv’ry fragrant dew,

  Give lustre to the vi’let’s hue;

  The shallow rivers o’er their pebbly way,

  In slow meanders murmuring play;

  Day spreads her beams, the lofty forest tree,

  Shakes from its moisten’d head the pearly show’r,

  All nature, feels the renovating hour,

  All, but the sorrowing child of cold ADVERSITY;

  For her, the linnet’s downy throat

  Breathes harmony in vain;

  Unmov’d, she hears the warbling note

  In all the melody of song complain;

  By her unmark’d the flowret’s bloom,

  In vain the landscape sheds perfume;

  Her languid form, on earth’s damp bed,

  In coarse and tatter’d garb reclines;

  In silent agony she pines;

  Or, if she hears some stranger’s tread,

  To a dark nook, ashamed she flies,

  And with her scanty robe, o’er-shades her weeping eyes.

  Her hair, dishevel’d, wildly plays

  With every freezing gale;

  While down her cold cheek, deadly pale,

  The tear of pensive sorrow strays;

  She shuns, the PITY of the proud,

  Her mind, still triumphs, unsubdu’d

  Nor stoops, its misery to obtrude,

  Upon the vulgar croud.

  Unheeded, and unknown,

  To some bleak wilderness she flies;

  And seated on a moss-clad stone,

  Unwholesome vapours round her rise,

  And hang their mischiefs on her brow;

  The ruffian winds, her limbs expose;

  Still, still, her heart disdains to bow,

  She cherishes her woes.

  NOW FAMINE spreads her sable wings;

  INGRATITUDE insults her pangs;

  While from a thousand eager fangs,

  Madd’ning she flies; — The recreant crew

  With taunting smiles her steps pursue;

  While on her burning, bleeding heart,

  Fresh wounded by Affliction’s dart,

  NEGLECT, her icy poison flings;

  From HOPE’s celestial bosom hurl’d,

  She seeks oblivion’s gloom,

  Now, now, she mocks the barb’rous world,

  AND TRIUMPHS IN THE TOMB.

  ODE TO BEAUTY.

  EXULTING BEAUTY, — phantom of an hour,

  Whose magic spells enchain the heart,

  Ah! what avails thy fascinating pow’r,

  Thy thrilling smile, thy witching art?

  Thy lip, where balmy nectar glows;

  Thy cheek, where round the damask rose

  A thousand nameless Graces move,

  Thy mildly speaking azure eyes,

  Thy golden hair, where cunning Love

  In many a mazy ringlet lies?

  Soon as thy radiant form is seen,

  Thy native blush, thy timid mien,

  Thy hour is past! thy charms are vain!

  ILL-NATURE haunts thee with her sallow train,

  Mean JEALOUSY deceives thy list’ning ear,

  And SLANDER stains thy cheek with many a bitter tear.

  In calm retirement form’d to dwell,

  NATURE, thy handmaid fair and kind,

  For thee, a beauteous garland twin’d;

  The vale-nurs’d Lily’s downcast bell

  Thy modest mien display’d,

  The snow-drop, April’s meekest child,

  With myrtle blossoms undefil’d,

  Thy mild and spotless mind pourtray’d;

  Dear blushing maid, of cottage birth,

  ’Twas thine, o’er dewy meads to stray,

  While sparkling health, and frolic mirth

  Led on thy laughing Day.

  Lur’d by the babbling tongue of FAME,

  Too soon, insidious FLATT’RY came;

  Flush’d VANITY her footsteps led,

  To charm thee from thy blest repose,

  While Fashion twin’d about thy head

  A wreath of wounding woes;

  See Dissipation smoothly glide,

  Cold Apathy, and puny Pride,

  Capricious Fortune, dull, and blind,

  O’er splendid Folly throws her veil,

  While Envy’s meagre tribe assail

  Thy gentle form, and spotless mind.

  Their spells prevail! no more those eyes

  Shoot undulating fires;

  On thy wan cheek, the young rose dies,

  Thy lip’s deep tint expires;

  Dark Melancholy chills thy mind;

  Thy silent tear reveals thy woe;

  TIME strews with thorns thy mazy way,

  Where’er thy giddy footsteps stray,

  Thy thoughtless heart is doom’d to find

  An unrelenting foe.

  ’Tis thus, the infant Forest flow’r

  Bespangled o’er with glitt’ring dew,

  At breezy morn’s refreshing hour,

  Glows with pure tints of varying hue,

  Beneath an aged oak’s wide spreading shade,

  Where no rude winds, or beating storms invade.

  Transplanted from its lonely bed,

  No more it scatters perfumes round,

  No more it rears its gentle head,

  Or brightly paints the mossy ground;

  For ah! the beauteous bud, too soon,

  Scorch’d by the burning eye of day;

  Shrinks from the sultry glare of noon,

  Droops its enamell’d brow, and blushing, dies away.

  ODE TO ELOQUENCE.

  HAIL! GODDESS of persuasive art!

  The magic of whose tuneful tongue

  Lulls to soft harmony the wand’ring heart

  With fascinating song;

  O, let me hear thy heav’n-taught strain,

  As thro’ my quiv’ring pulses steal

  The mingling throbs of joy and pain,

  Which only sensate minds can feel;

  Ah! let me taste the bliss supreme,

  Which thy warm touch unerring flings

  O’er the rapt sense’s finest strings,

  When GENIUS, darting frown the sky,

  Glances across my wond’ring eye,

  Her animating beam.

  SWEET ELOQUENCE! thy mild controul,

  Awakes to REASON’s dawn, the IDIOT soul;

  When mists absorb the MENTAL sight,

  ’Tis thine, to dart CREATIVE LIGHT;

  ’Tis thine, to chase the filmy clouds away,

  And o’er the mind’s deep bloom, spread a refulgent ray.

  Nor is thy wond’rous art confin’d,
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  Within the bounds of MENTAL space,

  For thou canst boast exterior grace,

  Bright emblem of the fertile mind;

  Yes; I have seen thee, with persuasion meek,

  Bathe in the lucid tear, on Beauty’s cheek,

  Have mark’d thee in the downcast eye,

  When suff’ring Virtue claim’d the pitying sigh.

  Oft, by thy thrilling voice subdued,

  The meagre fiend INGRATITUDE

  Her treach’rous fang conceals;

  Pale ENVY hides her forked sting;

  And CALUMNY, beneath the wing

  Of dark oblivion steals.

  Before thy pure and lambent fire

  Shall frozen Apathy expire;

  Thy influence warm and unconfin’d,

  Shall rapt’rous transports give,

  And in the base and torpid mind,

  Shall bid the fine Affections live;

  When JEALOUSY’s malignant dart,

  Strikes at the fondly throbbing heart;

  When fancied woes, on every side assail,

  Thy honey’d accents shall prevail;

  When burning Passion withers up the brain,

  And the fix’d lids, the glowing drops sustain,

  Touch’d by thy voice, the melting eye

  Shall pour the balm of yielding SYMPATHY.

  ’Tis thine, with lenient Song to move

  The dumb despair of hopeless LOVE;

  Or when the animated soul

  On Fancy’s wing shall soar,

  And scorning Reason’s soft controul,

  Untrodden paths explore;

  ‘Till by distracting conflicts tost,

  The intellectual source is lost:

  E’en then, the witching music of thy tongue

  Stealing thro’ Mis’ry’s DARKEST GLOOM,

  Weaves the fine threads of FANCY’s loom,

  ‘Till every slacken’d nerve new strung,

  Bids renovated NATURE shine,

  Amidst the fost’ring beams of ELOQUENCE DIVINE.

  ODE TO THE MOON.

  PALE GODDESS of the witching hour;

  Blest Contemplation’s placid friend;

  Oft in my solitary bow’r,

  I mark thy lucid beam

  From thy crystal car descend,

  Whitening the spangled heath, and limpid sapphire stream.

  And oft, amidst the shades of night

  I court thy undulating light;

  When Fairies dance around the verdant ring,

  Or frisk beside the bubbling spring,

  When the thoughtless SHEPHERD’S song

  Echoes thro’ the silent air,

  As he pens his fleecy care,

  Or plods with saunt’ring gait, the dewy meads along.

  CHASTE ORB! as thro’ the vaulted sky

  Feath’ry clouds transparent sail;

  When thy languid, weeping eye,

  Sheds its soft tears upon the painted vale;

  As I ponder o’er the floods,

  Or tread with listless step, th’embow’ring woods,

  O, let thy transitory beam,

  Soothe my sad mind, with FANCY’S aëry dream.

  Wrapt in REFLECTION, let me trace

  O’er the vast ethereal space,

  Stars, whose twinkling fires illume

  Dark-brow’d NIGHT’S obtrusive gloom;

  Where across the concave wide;

  Flaming METEORS swiftly glide;

  Or along the milky way,

  Vapours shoot a silvery ray;

  And as I mark, thy faint reclining head,

  Sinking on Ocean’s pearly bed;

  Let REASON tell my soul, thus all things fade.

  The Seasons change, the “garish SUN”

  When Day’s burning car hath run

  Its fiery course, no more we view,

  While o’er the mountain’s golden head,

  Streak’d with tints of crimson hue,

  Twilight’s filmy curtains spread,

  Stealing o’er Nature’s face, a desolating shade.

  Yon musky FLOW’R, that scents the earth;

  The SOD, that gave its odours birth;

  The ROCK, that breaks the torrent’s force;

  The VALE, that owns its wand’ring course;

  The woodlands where the vocal throng

  Trill the wild melodious song;

  Thirsty desarts, sands that glow,

  Mountains, cap’d with flaky snow;

  Luxuriant groves, enamell’d fields,

  All, all, prolific Nature yields,

  Alike shall end; the sensate HEART,

  With all its passions, all its fire,

  Touch’d by FATE’S unerring dart,

  Shall feel its vital strength expire;

  Those eyes, that beam with FRIENDSHIP’S ray,

  And glance ineffable delight,

  Shall shrink from LIFE’S translucid day,

  And close their fainting orbs, in DEATH’S impervious night.

  Then what remains for mortal pow’r;

  But TIME’S dull journey to beguile;

  To deck with joy, the winged hour,

  To meet its sorrows with a patient smile;

  And when the toilsome pilgrimage shall end,

  To greet the tyrant, as a welcome friend.

  ODE TO MEDITATION.

  SWEET CHILD OF REASON! maid serene;

  With folded arms, and pensive mien,

  Who wand’ring near yon thorny wild,

  So oft, my length’ning hours beguil’d;

  Thou, who within thy peaceful call,

  Canst laugh at LIFE’S tumultuous care,

  While calm repose delights to dwell

  On beds of fragrant roses there;

  Where meek-ey’d PATIENCE waits to greet

  The woe-worn Trav’ller’s weary feet,

  ‘Till by her blest and cheering ray

  The clouds of sorrow fade away;

  Where conscious RECTITUDE retires;

  Instructive WISDOM; calm DESIRES;

  Prolific SCIENCE, — lab’ring ART;

  And GENIUS, with expanded heart.

  Far from thy lone and pure domain,

  Steals pallid GUILT, whose scowling eye

  Marks the rack’d soul’s convulsive pain,

  Tho’ hid beneath the mask of joy;

  Madd’ning AMBITION’S dauntless band;

  Lean AVARICE with iron hand;

  HYPOCRISY with fawning tongue;

  Soft FLATT’RY with persuasive song;

  Appall’d in gloomy shadows fly,

  From MEDITATION’S piercing eye.

  How oft with thee I’ve stroll’d unseen

  O’er the lone valley’s velvet green;

  And brush’d away the twilight dew

  That stain’d the cowslip’s golden hue;

  Oft, as I ponder’d o’er the scene,

  Would mem’ry picture to my heart,

  How full of grief my days have been,

  How swiftly rapt’rous hours depart;

  Then would’st thou sweetly reas’ning say,

  “TIME journeys thro’ the roughest day.”

  THE HERMIT, from the world retir’d,

  By calm Religion’s voice inspir’d,

  Tells how serenely time glides on,

  From crimson morn, ‘till setting sun;

  How guiltless, pure, and free from strife,

  He journeys thro’ the vale of Life;

  Within his breast nor sorrows mourn,

  Nor cares perplex, nor passions burn;

  No jealous fears, or boundless joys,

  The tenor of his mind destroys;

  And when revolving mem’ry shows

  The thorny world’s unnumber’d woes;

  He blesses HEAV’N’s benign decree,

  That gave his days to PEACE and THEE.

  The gentle MAID, whose roseate bloom

  Fades fast within a cloyster’s gloom;

  Far
by relentless FATE remov’d,

  From all her youthful fancy lov’d;

  When her warm heart no longer bleeds,

  And cool Reflection’s hour succeeds;

  Led by THY downy hand, she strays

  Along the green dell’s tangled maze;

  Where thro’ dank leaves, the whisp’ring show’rs

  Awake to life the fainting flow’rs;

  Absorb’d by THEE, she hears no more

  The distant torrent’s fearful roar;

  The well-known VESPER’s silver tone;

  The bleak wind’s desolating moan;

  No more she sees the nodding spires,

  Where the dark bird of night retires;

  While Echo chaunts her boding song

  The cloyster’s mould’ring walls among;

  No more she weeps at Fate’s decree,

  But yields her pensive soul to THEE.

  THE SAGE, whose palsy’d head bends low

  ‘Midst scatter’d locks of silv’ry snow;

  Still by his MIND’s clear lustre tells,

  What warmth within his bosom dwells;

  How glows his heart with treasur’d lore,

  How rich in Wisdom’s boundless store;

  In fading Life’s protracted hour,

  He smiles at Death’s terrific pow’r;

  He lifts his radiant eyes, which gleam

  With Resignation’s sainted beam:

  And, as the weeping star of morn,

  Sheds lustre on the wither’d thorn,

  His tear benign, calm comfort throws,

  O’er rugged Life’s corroding woes;

  His pious soul’s enlighten’d rays

  Dart forth, to gild his wint’ry days;

  He smiles serene at Heav’n’s decree,

  And his last hour resigns to THEE.

  When Learning, with Promethean art,

  Unveils to light the youthful heart;

  When on the richly-budding spray,

  The glorious beams of Genius play;

  When the expanded leaves proclaim

  The promis’d fruits of rip’ning Fame;

  O MEDITATION, maid divine!

  Proud REASON owns the work is THINE.

  Oft, have I known thy magic pow’r,

  Irradiate sorrow’s wint’ry hour;

  Oft, my full heart to THEE hath flown,

  And wept for mis’ries not its own;

  When pinch’d with agonizing PAIN,

  My restless bosom dar’d complain;

  Oft have I sunk upon THY breast,

  And lull’d my weary mind to rest;

  ‘Till I have own’d the blest decree,

  That gave my soul to PEACE and THEE.

  ODE TO DELLA CRUSCA.

  ENLIGHTEN’D Patron of the sacred Lyre?

  Whose ever-varying, ever-witching song

  Revibrates on the heart