Poems on Several Occasions By J. Robertson |
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On a ROBIN's Singing o'er FIDELIA's Grave in Marygate Church-Yard, York.
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
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On a ROBIN's Singing o'er FIDELIA's Grave in Marygate Church-Yard, York.
Still be the air: Unmov'd ev'n Zephyr's wing,
While the sweet Songster warbles forth his lays;
And hark!—Fidelia's dirge he plaintive sings,
The sacred Pile echoing forth her Praise.
While the sweet Songster warbles forth his lays;
And hark!—Fidelia's dirge he plaintive sings,
The sacred Pile echoing forth her Praise.
That praise she well deserves:—All good and kind,
A soul devoid of cruelty or pride:
Not ev'n the Babes by You consign'd to fame,
More spotless liv'd, or less repining dy'd.
A soul devoid of cruelty or pride:
Not ev'n the Babes by You consign'd to fame,
More spotless liv'd, or less repining dy'd.
Hither the Warbler eyes with cautious gaze,
Oh, let not Fear suspend your grateful song;
Like you I wish to sing Fidelia's praise,
Who lov'd Fidelia ne'er can do you wrong.
Oh, let not Fear suspend your grateful song;
Like you I wish to sing Fidelia's praise,
Who lov'd Fidelia ne'er can do you wrong.
To see the Feather'd Tribe encag'd, the sigh
Wou'd often heave; the tear humane wou'd start;
The pitying soul wou'd glance from forth her eye,
For Pity's dwelling was Fidelia's heart.
Wou'd often heave; the tear humane wou'd start;
The pitying soul wou'd glance from forth her eye,
For Pity's dwelling was Fidelia's heart.
Hark! now again he swells his tuneful throat,
His sympathising soul with grief o'erflows,
Pity and love are warbled in each note;
Such melody's the soothing nurse of woes.
His sympathising soul with grief o'erflows,
Pity and love are warbled in each note;
Such melody's the soothing nurse of woes.
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Sing on, nor snare or ruthless school-boy fear,
Her sacred reliques will from danger save;
Nor blasting Witch or Goblin dare appear
To shed their venom o'er Fidelia's grave.
Her sacred reliques will from danger save;
Nor blasting Witch or Goblin dare appear
To shed their venom o'er Fidelia's grave.
Oft when the western sun has downward sped
To your soul-melting Lay wou'd she attend;
And when stern winter threaten'd, constant fed,
And to the red-breast mourners prov'd a friend.
To your soul-melting Lay wou'd she attend;
And when stern winter threaten'd, constant fed,
And to the red-breast mourners prov'd a friend.
Sweet tho' your song (why swells my throbbing breast
Why heaves the sigh? Why drops the heart-sprung tear?)
Her song than your's yet sweeter was confest,
The melting sound still vibrates on my ear.
Why heaves the sigh? Why drops the heart-sprung tear?)
Her song than your's yet sweeter was confest,
The melting sound still vibrates on my ear.
Oh, may thy tuneful dirge, sweet Bird, each Eve,
With soothings kind my anguish'd bosom move;
So may thy heart, like mine, ne'er know to grieve,
Nor may'st thou mourn, like me, a widow'd love.
With soothings kind my anguish'd bosom move;
So may thy heart, like mine, ne'er know to grieve,
Nor may'st thou mourn, like me, a widow'd love.
Each flow'r and sweet cull'd with thy nicest skill,
Strew o'er her grave; no baleful weed be seen;
But weeping Eve her richest dews distill,
And may the hallow'd turf be ever green.
Strew o'er her grave; no baleful weed be seen;
But weeping Eve her richest dews distill,
And may the hallow'd turf be ever green.
And when no more this pulse shall know to beat,
When all Life's pow'rs their functions shall decline,
Oh may—(the flattering hope how soothing-sweet!)
O may my ashes be entomb'd with thine.
When all Life's pow'rs their functions shall decline,
Oh may—(the flattering hope how soothing-sweet!)
O may my ashes be entomb'd with thine.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |