Collected Poetical Works of Mary Robinson Read online

I

  Ye verdant greens, ye shady woods,

  Ye gardens, and ye groves,

  Ye tinkling streams, ye murm’ring floods,

  Ye grotto’s, and alcoves.

  II

  Alas! ye yield me no delight,

  In sighs I waste the day,

  In tears consume the tedious night,

  For Strephon is away.

  III

  How often his persuasive tongue,

  Beguil’d the fleeting days,

  When tender strains he sweetly sung,

  In Leonora’s praise.

  IV

  How sweetly flew the time away,

  How blith was every hour,

  When I with Strephon past the day,

  At yonder blooming bower.

  V

  His auburn tresses careless grew,

  In ringlets round his neck,

  His lovely eyes of glossy blue,

  And smiling rosy cheek.

  VI

  His graceful mein, and gentle look,

  With skin as lillies fair,

  Bedeck’d with garland, pipe and crook,

  None cou’d with him compare.

  VII

  As thro’ the dale, or in the grove,

  Together we did go,

  He told me pretty tales of love,

  And I believ’d them true.

  VIII

  But now he’s gone, and I must grieve,

  For ever I must mourn,

  Out of his sight I cannot live,

  And fear he’ll ne’er return.

  IX

  In shady bow’rs, and mossy cells,

  Forlorn and lost I stray,

  By chrystal streams, and purling rills,

  I waste the live-long day.

  X

  When absent from the youth I love,

  My breast is fraught with pain,

  No comfort can my bosom prove,

  Each shepherd I disdain.

  XI

  For Strephon was the pride of swains,

  His worth by all approv’d,

  I heard his sweet melodious strains,

  I heard and fondly lov’d.

  XII

  Ye careless nymphs, so blith and gay,

  Your choice with caution make,

  Let no false swain your heart betray,

  For Leonora’s sake.

  THOUGHTS ON RETIREMENT.

  I

  Hence pining grief, and black despair,

  Hence from my breast, each anxious care,

  And high ambition’s idle claim,

  With envy’s, mean detested train;

  All vain desires, fly from my peaceful cell,

  Where sweet humility alone shall dwell.

  II

  Welcome sweet hope, and genial love,

  Welcome, each blessing from above,

  Peace and content, with heav’n-born rest,

  Ah! welcome, to my placid breast.

  Such joys alone, as solitude impart,

  Shall ever occupy my tender heart.

  III

  Adieu! vain world, no more thy charms,

  With fond desire my bosom warms,

  For real bliss can only dwell,

  Within the moss-grown rustic cell,

  Where peace, and innocence for ever reigns,

  Free from those ills which idle pomp sustains.

  AN ODE TO CONTENTMENT.

  I

  Celestial maid, if on my way,

  Propitious thou wilt’ deign to smile,

  Let virtue guide each youthful day,

  From malice, envy, care, and guile.

  II

  Protect my unexperienc’d youth,

  From ev’ry ill, from grief and pain,

  Inspire my heart with love and truth,

  Without ambition’s idle claim.

  III

  Banish’d from thee, what’s ev’ry joy,

  What’s beauty, wealth, delight, or ease,

  Without thee all our pleasures cloy,

  Which nature first ordain’d to please.

  IV

  In search of thee, long time I stray’d,

  Amid the throng of busy life,

  But found, alas! I was betray’d,

  For vanity’s the source of strife.

  V

  I’ve fought thee in the myrtle shade,

  The silent wood, and poplar grove,

  I’ve sought thee in the lonely glade,

  The paths of friendship, and of love.

  VI

  Some hope to find thee in a court,

  In stately pomp, and vain parade,

  But that is not thy calm resort,

  Such scenes of art you ne’er invade.

  VII

  Tis not in palaces you dwell,

  Among the gay, and giddy croud,

  Nor in the hermit’s lonely cell,

  Far distant from the great, and proud.

  VIII

  The sordid miser hopes t’explore,

  Thy wondrous charms in idle toys,

  In hoarding heaps of yellow ore,

  In transitory, short-liv’d joys.

  IX

  Mistaken youth, too often trys,

  With luxury, deceit and art,

  To find thee in the wanton’s eyes,

  Which only shine t’ensnare th’heart,

  X

  Others by fickle fortune blind,

  To flatt’ry’s mean device a prey,

  Vainly expect, content to find,

  Among the great, the rich, and gay.

  XI

  Alas! ye blinded, thoughtless race,

  Contentment ye will never find,

  Till ye abhor deceit, and vice,

  And pay attention to the mind.

  XII

  In your own pow’r, alone it lies,

  To blend this life with joy, or care,

  Ambition’s idle claim despise,

  Think yourself happy; — and you are.

  A SONG.

  I

  Chloe, ’tis not thy graceful air,

  Soft wishes can impart,

  Thy face so exquisitely fair,

  Can ne’er subdue my heart;

  Tis virtue, sense, and truth combin’d,

  With ease and prudence dress’d,

  Will captivate the wav’ring mind,

  And make a lover bless’d.

  II

  I own soft beauty’s mighty charms,

  Yet never felt the smart,

  Confess your mien my bosom warms,

  Yet cannot wound my heart.

  Tis virtue only, gentle maid,

  Will constancy demand,

  For beauty like a flower will fade,

  By time’s all conqu’ring hand.

  THE VISION.

  As lately musing in a lonely shade,

  For meditation and contentment made,

  The murm’ring streams reecho’d thro’ the trees,

  And verdant poplars, fan’d the gentle breeze,

  All dwelt serene within my tranquil breast,

  And sweet retirement, lull’d my soul to rest:

  Delightful fancy lent her potent aid,

  And scenes of wonder, to my sense convey’d.

  Transported to a verdant blooming green,

  Where all was calm, and nature shone serene:

  The daisy painted ground, perfum’d the air,

  And sweet contentment, seem’d to banish care,

  A group of lovely damsels caught my eye,

  And each in youth and beauty strove to vie;

  Yet two shone more resplendent than the rest,

  One in a purple, airy, flowing vest;

  Her temples bound with flow’rs of diff’rent hue,

  The lilly white, the violet azure blue,

  Her tender feet with glitt’ring sandals bound,

  Trip’t lightly o’er the flow’ry painted ground.

  Her golden locks flow’d careless in the wind.


  And her whole dress was loose and unconfin’d.

  The other, clad in purity, and truth,

  With all the blooming, radiant charms of youth,

  White was her robe, bright auborn was her hair,

  Meek her deportment, and serene her air;

  Her looks outvied the pure and unsun’d snow,

  And wreaths of laurel, bound her sacred brow,

  Her friend was wisdom, who with heav’nly song,

  With caution lead her mistress thro’ the throng.

  Her breath with ambient sweets perfum’d the ground,

  And calm serenity shone all around;

  Each strove by turns to sooth the giddy croud,

  Courted the humble, and implor’d the proud.

  The first was pleasure (soft alluring name,)

  The other virtue, surest guide to fame.

  Struck with astonishment I gaz’d around,

  When suddenly I heard a heav’nly sound,

  A sound more sweet than the soft breath of love,

  Harmonious as the songsters of the grove;

  Melodious as the pipe upon the plains,

  The tuneful lyre, or Philomela’s strains.

  ’Twas virtue’s voice, the pure seraphic maid,

  In tender numbers these soft accents said.

  “Ah! follow me, fair nymph, to my pure cell,

  “’Tis there content, and peace alone can dwell;

  “’Tis there true happiness and joy you’ll find,

  “A homely fair, but a reception kind:

  “Where innocence and love, delight to reign,

  “Free from dissimulation, care, and pain.

  “There peace resides, there honor keeps her court,

  “There pity dwells, the muses there resort.

  “Beware of vice, her pleasures soon will cloy,

  “And keen repentance, follow guilty joy.

  “Forsake the giddy, gay, unthinking croud,

  “Forsake the covetous, the vain, and proud;

  “By me be guided, I will lead the way,

  “To blissful paths of everlasting day.

  “In this precarious life i’ll be thy friend,

  “And celebrate thy name, e’en to time’s end;

  “Take my advice, ’tis I alone can prove,

  “The heart-felt happiness of virtuous love:

  “The real pleasures of an honest mind,

  “In all my footsteps you will surely find.

  Thus spoke the nymph, — to heav’n the music floats,

  And angels echo back the tuneful notes.

  Transported, and amaz’d, I trembling cry’d,

  “In thee alone I trust to be my guide!”

  The goddess smil’d, and kindly press’d my hand,

  When I obedient to her wise command

  Followed her footsteps, to that blissful seat,

  Where peace, humility, and love do meet:

  To that pure cell where every earthly joy,

  Reigns uncontroul’d, unmixt, without a cloy.

  The journey long, the fare was mean and coarse,

  The road was rugged, and the task was worse;

  Our gentle guides were Patience, Hope, and Truth,

  (The best supporters of each virtuous youth)

  Each friend, by turns, sooth’d my advent’rous heart,

  And tales of truth, and honor did impart.

  When, on a sudden, horrors spread around,

  And echo’d thro’ the grove an hollow sound;

  The clouds grew black, all nature seem’d to fade,

  And sicken o’er the solemn lonely glade;

  Naught could be heard but silver falling floods,

  And woe fraught murmurs reign’d throughout the woods.

  Confusion struck my frame, when Patience cry’d,

  “Fear not, fair nymph, in me alone confide;

  “In a short time these dreadful storms shall cease,

  “And I will crown your toil, with joy, and peace.

  “E’er you arrive where bliss eternal reigns,

  “You first must learn to scorn such trifling pains;

  “The pure seraphic mind which virtue warms,

  “Must bare serenely these tempestuous storms;

  “The feeling heart must many crosses know,

  “In virtue’s cause, — where fortune proves a foe:

  “Let not these trifles your soft breast alarm,

  “Patience will guide you free from every harm.”

  Here ceas’d the virgin, the prophetic sound,

  And gleams of heavenly light shone all around;

  The clouds dispers’d, the storm and tempest ceas’d,

  And every visionary care decreas’d.

  The flowers recover’d their delightful hue,

  And nature shone in all her bloom anew;

  No scent more fragrant does the rose exhale,

  Then those which fan’d the sweet ambrosial gale.

  At a small distance stood the peaceful cell,

  Where innocence and harmony do dwell;

  No pompous grandeur there adorns the grove,

  No spiery turrets rear their heads above;

  No gilded columns, no gay temples rise,

  There no luxurious dome invades the skies;

  Alone for peace the humble cell was made,

  And sweet contentment, reigns within the shade:

  A purling stream in soft meanders glide,

  The violet sweet, and daizy blooms beside:

  Fair honor reigns supreme and void of care,

  Each heavenly blessing does inhabit there.

  With meek humility, with truth divine,

  And ev’ry virtue bows before the shrine.

  Love, the soft moulder of the pliant soul,

  (Whose power our wishes and our minds controul;)

  Within these sacred shades serenely mov’d,

  By virtue guided, and by heav’n approv’d.

  Enraptur’d I beheld those regions bright,

  And scenes of wonder beam’d upon the sight;

  Harmonious songsters I distinctly heard,

  And soft musicians in the grove appear’d:

  While thus I stood intent to see and hear,

  A damsel’s voice address’d my pensive ear.

  “Like you a stranger to distress and woe,

  “Possess’d of all the gifts the gods bestow,

  “Of all the real blessings heaven can give,

  “Still my fond soul for other joys did grieve.

  “Once on a time by giddy fancy taught,

  “For idle pleasures earnestly I sought;

  “No well-taught council could my feet restrain,

  “But pleasures lur’d me to the flow’ry plain;

  “That sure destruction to the youthful mind,

  “To her my frail, my willing heart inclin’d.

  “Long time I revel’d in luxurious joys,

  “Which ev’ry gen’rous sentiment destroys.

  “But ah! fair nymph, each pleasure quickly dies,

  “Where blacken’d vice, fair virtue’s place supplies.

  “Such idle joys last but a fleeting day,

  “Where vice triumphant reigns with potent sway;

  “Short was the time these scenes my soul possess’d,

  “But endless are the pangs within my breast.

  “No time the stings of conscience can subdue,

  “Where’er I fly fresh grief my steps pursue;

  “Conscious of past offence, my erring breast,

  “Is torn with sad remorse, and rob’d of rest,

  “I feel, I feel, the heaving sigh renew’d,

  “And sad rememb’rance on my soul intrude;

  “Still must my mind with heart felt grief abound,

  “Till virtue’s hand shall heal reflection’s wound.

  “Too late my blinded eyes perceiv’d the road,

  “Which lead to this celestial, bless’d abode;

  “Happy are you, w
hose youthful breast aspires,

  “With genial warmth, to burn with purer fires.

  “Who in the tender, early days of youth,

  “Trod the unsullied paths of sacred truth.

  “Then hail, fair nymph, hail sweet humility,

  “Each vot’ry of our shade, shall honor thee.

  “Enjoy, henceforth, each blessing of the bless’d,

  “May all thy future days be crown’d with rest.”

  “Farewell, “she cry’d, — then join’d the happy throng,

  Who to my list’ning ear address’d their song.

  “Welcome, welcome, to our cell,

  “Here content, and peace do dwell;

  “Every joy to charm the heart,

  “All that wisdom can impart,

  “All that can the bosom fire,

  “All that virtue can desire;

  “Every blessing from above,

  “Ease and plenty, joy and love;

  “Meek humility and rest,

  “All the transports of the bless’d;

  “Join with us in sprightly song,

  “Dance among the happy throng;

  “Tune the cymbal, and the lyre,

  “Virtue does our souls inspire;

  “Prudence, is our matron wise,

  “Ev’ry folly we despise;

  “Here the graces keep their court,

  “Here the muses all resort;

  “Welcome to this happy cell,

  “Here content and peace doth dwell.

  Here ceas’d the tender, soft, alluring throng,

  Their artless, sweet, prophetic, warmbling song;

  And I awoke, alas! too soon to find,

  ’Twas only fancy that deceiv’d my mind;

  But what a change from scenes of tranquil joy,

  To momentary pleasures born to cloy.

  TO MATILDA.

  I

  Pure and divine, without a fault,

  What angels are described to be,

  And every bright excelling grace,

  Matilda, I behold in thee.

  II

  Each sweet perfection void of art,

  In all thy actions may be seen,

  Possess’d of more than common worth,

  A godlike mind and beauteous mein.

  III

  Where grace, and elegance unite,

  Where virtue and fair truth do shine,

  Where reigns each soft bewitching charm,

  Bestow’d by providence divine.

  IV

  Thy temper mild, thy friendship sure,

  Thy judgment sound, thy with refin’d,

  Thy breast with every beauty fraught,

  With charity, and meekness join’d.

  V

  Inspir’d by influence supreme,

  Humanity each purpose guides,

  And infinite benevolence,

  With wisdom o’er thy soul presides.

  VI