Collected Poetical Works of Mary Robinson Read online

  Perdita by Sir Joshua Reynolds, 1782

  Portrait of Robinson by George Romney, c. 1782

  Lieutenant-Colonel Banastre Tarleton by Joshua Reynolds. Robinson lived separately from her husband and went on to have several love affairs, most notably with Banastre Tarleton, a soldier who had recently distinguished himself fighting in the American War of Independence.

  Mary Robinson in later years by George Dance, 1793

  Poems, 1775

  CONTENTS

  A PASTORAL BALLAD.

  PART THE SECOND.

  ANOTHER.

  A PASTORAL ELEGY.

  AN ODE TO WISDOM.

  AN ODE TO CHARITY.

  THE LINNET’S PETITION.

  A CHARACTER.

  WRITTEN ON THE OUTSIDE OF AN HERMITAGE.

  A CHARACTER.

  ODE TO VIRTUE.

  AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.

  ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.

  THE WISH.

  ON A FRIEND.

  ON THE DEATH OF LORD GEORGE LYTTELTON.

  A CHARACTER.

  ODE TO SPRING.

  LETTER TO A FRIEND ON LEAVING TOWN.

  WRITTEN EXTEMPORE ON THE PICTURE OF A FRIEND.

  HYMN TO VIRTUE.

  SONG.

  SONG.

  ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF A LADY.

  TO AURELIA ON HER GOING ABROAD.

  TO LOVE: WRITTEN EXTEMPORE.

  THE COMPLAINT.

  THOUGHTS ON RETIREMENT.

  AN ODE TO CONTENTMENT.

  A SONG.

  THE VISION.

  TO MATILDA.

  A PASTORAL BALLAD.

  I

  Ye Shepherds who sport on the plain,

  Drop a tear at my sorrowful tale,

  My heart was a stranger to pain,

  Till pierc’d by the pride of the vale.

  When deck’d with his pipe and his crook,

  A garland his temples did bind,

  So sweetly the Shepherd did look,

  I thought he cou’d not be unkind.

  II

  But alas! t’other day at the fair,

  (Sad story for me to relate,)

  He bought ribbons for Phillis’s hair,

  For Phillis, the nymph that I hate.

  Sweet songs to beguile the dull hours,

  A crook, and a garland so fine,

  A posie of May-blowing flowers,

  Adorn’d with green myrtle and thyme.

  III

  Last week as they sat in the grove,

  Such sweetness his looks did impart,

  Their converse I’m sure was of love,

  And I fear, that it flow’d from his heart.

  I heard the soft words that he sung,

  Such tender, such amorous lays,

  Each accent that fell from his tongue,

  Was blended with Phillis’s praise.

  IV

  “My charmer, said he, is more fair,

  “Then the jessamine twin’d round my bow’r,

  “What’s thyme with her breath to compare,

  “Or lavender after a show’r.

  “The rose when compar’d with her cheek,

  “Drooping downward with envy it dies,

  “When Sol thro’ a shower doth break —

  “He’s not half so bright as her eyes.”

  V

  Alas! if they never had met,

  I had not endur’d such keen woes,

  I wish he would Phillis forget,

  And yield my poor heart some repose.

  Each day wou’d I sing thro’ the grove,

  Each moment devote to my swain.

  But if he has settled his love,

  My bosom is destin’d to pain.

  VI

  Adieu, to contentment and rest,

  Adieu, to my once lov’d repose,

  For I fear I can never be bless’d,

  Till death puts an end to my woes.

  To the grave will I carry my truth,

  Take heed ah! ye nymphs by my fate,

  Be careful to shun the false youth,

  And with pity my story relate.

  PART THE SECOND.

  I

  Come join all ye nymphs of the grove,

  And sing of the change that I find,

  At length I have conquer’d my love,

  And taught the dear youth to be kind.

  My bow’r shall with chaplets be dress’d,

  My lambkins no longer shall stray,

  For my bosom no more is oppress’d,

  Henceforth I’ll be happy, and gay.

  II

  Oh jealousy, merciless foe,

  How did’st thou invade my fond breast,

  Each day, was a compound of woe,

  Each night, it depriv’d me of rest.

  I envied the nymphs and the swains,

  With malice and hatred I pin’d,

  Because they were strangers to pain,

  And felt not such torture as mine.

  III

  Young Daphne the sprightly and gay,

  Admir’d for her beauty and grace,

  With Damon did wantonly play,

  O! I wish’d to have been in her place.

  I fear’d that her charms would beguile,

  That her song would enchant the dear swain,

  I could not allow him to smile,

  For his smiles were the cause of my pain.

  IV

  Gay Colin by all is approv’d,

  And said to be witty and fair,

  He has often declar’d that he lov’d,

  Yet none can with Damon compare.

  But why do I muse on past woe,

  And my happiness idly destroy,

  What blessing can heaven bestow,

  Superior to that I enjoy.

  V

  No danger or peril I fear,

  No trouble my bliss can remove,

  While bless’d in the smiles of my dear,

  In the smiles of the youth that I love.

  Together we sport all the day,

  By the stream that meanders along,

  Or else o’er the meadows we stray,

  And Damon enchants with his song.

  VI

  Adieu to all anguish and care,

  To malice, and envy adieu,

  No longer will Delia despair,

  For Damon is faithful and true.

  Then join all ye nymphs of the grove,

  And sing of the change that I find,

  At length I have conquer’d my love,

  And taught the dear youth to be kind.

  ANOTHER.

  I

  Ye myrtles and woodbines so green,

  Your fragrance no longer beguile,

  Ye bow’rs that with rapture I’ve seen,

  When Damon did tenderly smile.

  When his heart beat with every look,

  His charmer did kindly bestow;

  When he left both his pipe and his crook,

  O’er the meadows with Delia to go.

  II

  Each hour he employ’d for his dear,

  In gathering fruit of the best,

  The sweet bryar, and violet did rear,

  To make poesies for Delia’s breast.

  With roses, and hiacynths fair,

  With myrtle, and ever green bay,

  Sweet chaplets he wove for her hair,

  And her charms were the theme of his lay.

  III

  At noon’s scorching heat we retir’d,

  To the grove at the foot of the hill,

  Or else to the wood he admir’d,

  By the side of a murmuring rill.

  With his song did the shepherd delight,

  His reed did resound through the grove,

  My steps did the charmer invite,

  And each accent was blended with love.

  IV

  But ah! to my sorrow I find,

  (What grieves my fond heart to relate;)

  That Damon i
s false as the wind,

  His passion is changed to hate.

  With scorn doth he slight all my charms,

  Such contempt ev’ry look doth impart,

  With hatred he flies from my arms,

  With disdain he rejects my soft heart.

  V

  The garland he wove for my hair,

  Of laurel, and ever green bay,

  The crook that he bought at the fair,

  He has given to Phillis the gay.

  The bow’r which for Delia he made,

  The lambkins he lov’d for my sake,

  Of the grot, and the silver cascade,

  No longer must Delia partake.

  VI

  My flocks can no longer delight,

  In vain do they frolick and play,

  For when Damon is out of my sight,

  No pleasure I feel through the day.

  No more do I sport on the plain,

  No comfort my bosom can prove,

  ‘Till Damon doth pity my pain,

  For pity is sister to love.

  A PASTORAL ELEGY.

  I

  Ye nymphs, ah! give ear to my lay,

  Your pastime I prithe’ give o’er,

  For Damon the youthful and gay,

  Is gone, — and our joys are no more.

  That Shepherd so blithsome and fair,

  Whose truth was the pride of the plains,

  Has left us alas! in despair,

  For no such a Shepherd remains.

  II

  His life was a compound of joy,

  Pure innocence guided each thought,

  No envy his bliss cou’d annoy,

  For with virtue his bosom was fraught.

  He scorn’d to deceive or betray,

  Fair truth ever dwelt in his sight,

  He always was blithsome and gay,

  And to please was his only delight.

  III

  In the shade when reclin’d on his crook,

  To hear his melodious strains,

  My flocks I have often forsook,

  To wander alone on the plains.

  Each bird did attend on the spray,

  The zephers did play on the trees,

  Sweet harmony join’d the soft lay,

  And whisper’d his praise in each breeze.

  IV

  My lambkins are straying far wide,

  The lilly reclines her fair head,

  My crook is with scorn thrown aside,

  For alas! my sweet Shepherd is dead.

  I will riffle the jessamin bow’rs,

  To deck the green turf on his breast,

  With myrtle and sweet scented flow’rs,

  My Damon’s cold grave shall be dress’d.

  V

  While Eglantine sheds a perfume,

  Or peace is Pastora’s desire,

  While the cowslip continues to bloom,

  Or the rose is adorn’d with a brier.

  While the lambkins shall graze on the plain,

  Or the nightingale warble its lay,

  As long as old time shall remain,

  His memory ne’er shall decay.

  VI

  But alas! the lov’d youth is no more,

  Each stream shall repeat the sad sound,

  Each Shepherd the loss shall deplore,

  And his fate thro’ the grove shall resound.

  Since truth like my Damon’s must yield,

  To death, that invincible foe,

  Ye swains, ah! make virtue your shield,

  Nor tremble to meet the dire blow.

  AN ODE TO WISDOM.

  I

  Hail wisdom, goddess of each art,

  That wakes the soul, and mends the heart,

  Superior joy, whose influence bright,

  Regales the sense, and glads the sight,

  Thou source of every bliss on earth combin’d,

  Absolve my frailties, and enlarge my mind.

  II

  Beneath thy penetrating eye,

  Folly’s delusive shadows fly,

  Far from thy temple vain desires,

  With pride’s destructive train retires,

  For virtue there alone can reign secure,

  Protected by thy precepts wise, and pure.

  III

  To thee, the suppliant knee I bend,

  Minerva to my pray’r attend,

  With parent fondness teach my soul,

  Each idle passion to controul,

  That guided by the clear transcendent ray,

  In life’s great circle, I may bend my way.

  AN ODE TO CHARITY.

  I

  Hail meek-eyed daughter of the sky,

  Celestial, heaven-born, Charity;

  To thee my lays are due,

  To thee for ever will I sing,

  And soar on contemplations wing,

  To peace, to joy, and you.

  II

  Thou greatest virtue man can boast,

  Fair offspring of the heavenly host,

  Accept my humble pray’r;

  Thou source of bliss for ever new,

  May I thy impulse still pursue,

  With energy sincere.

  III

  Thy precepts dignify the heart,

  And banish each anxious smart,

  With influence divine,

  Then steal, O steal, into my breast,

  Where every feeling stands confess’d,

  Before thy sacred shrine.

  IV

  Conduct me to that calm retreat,

  Where thou hast fix’d thy peaceful seat,

  Where charms supreme abound,

  Where bliss extatick deigns to roam,

  Where sweet content has fixt her throne,

  And glories shine around.

  V

  O lead me to that sacred shrine,

  Where piety and grace divine,

  Alternately do reign,

  Where love, and friendship, join to please,

  With strict sincerity and ease,

  Without one anxious pain.

  VI

  There calumny’s destructive dart,

  No more invades the honest heart,

  Or wounds the gentle breast,

  But peace seraphick sooths the mind,

  And every bliss in thee combin’d,

  Transports the soul to rest.

  VII

  Thither retir’d from grief and pain,

  From envy and ambition’s train,

  My future days I’d spend,

  And in thy pure society,

  From pride, deceit, and folly free,

  This life of sorrow end.

  VIII

  Gladly I’d quit this wretched state,

  And willing yield my breath to fate,

  Without one pang, one sigh,

  Well pleas’d with heaven’s all just decree,

  Sustain’d by Faith, by Hope, and Thee,

  Content to live or die.

  THE LINNET’S PETITION.

  I

  As Stella sat the other day,

  Beneath a myrtle shade,

  A tender bird in plaintive notes,

  Address’d the pensive maid.

  II

  Upon a bough in gaudy cage,

  The feather’d warbler hung,

  And in melodious accents thus,

  His fond petition sung.

  III

  “Ah! pity my unhappy fate,

  “And set a captive free,

  “So may you never feel the loss,

  “Of peace, or liberty.”

  IV

  “With ardent pray’r and humble voice,

  “Your mercy now I crave,

  “Your kind compassion and regard,

  “My tender life to save.”

  V

  “Ah! wherefore am I here confin’d,

  “Ah! why does fate ordain,

  “A life so innocent as mine,

  “Should end in grief and pain.”
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  VI

  “I envy every little bird,

  “That warbles gay and free,

  “The meanest of the feather’d race,

  “Is happier far than me.”

  VII

  “Sweet liberty by heaven sent,

  “From me, alas! is torn,

  “And here without a cause confin’d,

  “A captive doom’d I mourn.”

  VIII

  “When bright Aurora’s silver rays,

  “Proclaim the rising morn,

  “And glitt’ring dew drops shine around,

  “Or gild the flow’ring thorn.”

  IX

  “When every bird except myself,

  “Went forth his mate to see,

  “I always tun’d my downy throat,

  “To please, and gladden thee.”

  X

  “Beneath thy window each new day,

  “And in the myrtle bow’r,

  “I strove to charm thy list’ning ear,

  “With all my little pow’r.”

  XI

  “Ah! what avails this gaudy cage,

  “Or what is life to me,

  “If thus confin’d, if thus distress’d,

  “And robb’d of liberty.”

  XII

  “I who the greatest fav’rite was

  “Of all the feather’d race,

  “Think, Stella think, the pain I feel,

  “And pity my sad case.”

  XIII

  While here condemn’d to sure despair,

  “What comfort have I left,

  “Or how can I this fate survive,

  “Of every joy bereft.”

  XIV

  “My harmless life was ever free,

  “From mischief and from ill,

  “My only wish on earth to prove,

  “Obedient, to your will.”

  XV

  “Then pity my unhappy fate,

  “And set a captive free,

  “So may you never feel the loss,

  “Of peace, or liberty.”

  XVI

  On Stella’s breast compassion soon,

  Each tender feeling wrought,

  Resolv’d to give him back with speed,

  That freedom which he sought.

  XVII

  With friendly hand she ope’d the cage,

  By kindred pity mov’d,

  And sympathetic joys divine,

  Her gentle bosom prov’d.

  XVIII

  When first she caught the flutt’ring thing,

  She felt strange extasy,

  But never knew so great a bliss,

  As when she set him free.