Donna Clara to her Daughter Teresa an Epistle Occasioned by a Genuine Letter to a young Spanish Lady, from her Mother, who had been long confined to a Convent thro' the Discovery of her Intrigue with a Sicilian Count. Written by H. Jacob |
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 | Donna Clara to her Daughter Teresa |  |
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Donna CLARA To her Daughter TERESA; AN EPISTLE, &c.
From
Solitude, which ne'er must know an End,
Depriv'd of ev'ry Joy, and ev'ry Friend,
Accept, dear Offspring, such poetic Fire,
As Forests dark, and dreary Wastes inspire.
Slight not the Gift, Teresa, nor refuse
These melancholy Measures to peruse.
Deign from my Hands, tho' guilty, to receive
All thy abandon'd Parent now can give!
Depriv'd of ev'ry Joy, and ev'ry Friend,
Accept, dear Offspring, such poetic Fire,
As Forests dark, and dreary Wastes inspire.
Slight not the Gift, Teresa, nor refuse
These melancholy Measures to peruse.
Deign from my Hands, tho' guilty, to receive
All thy abandon'd Parent now can give!
Oft I've been told, since to these Walls confin'd,
That the first Lessons taught thy tender Mind,
Were thy poor Mother, tho' unknown, to hate,
To shun her Presence, and avoid her Fate.
T'avoid her Fate, I do my self advise;
But, O Teresa, bless thy Mother's Eyes!
Tho' Serpents, Asps, and Tygers in their Ire,
Are held less dang'rous by thy rigid Sire;
Tho' Years of Absence can't his Wrath asswage,
Or long, sincere Repentance calm his Rage;
Repentance, which high Heav'n does oftimes move,
And stay th' avenging Thunder from above!
That the first Lessons taught thy tender Mind,
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To shun her Presence, and avoid her Fate.
T'avoid her Fate, I do my self advise;
But, O Teresa, bless thy Mother's Eyes!
Tho' Serpents, Asps, and Tygers in their Ire,
Are held less dang'rous by thy rigid Sire;
Tho' Years of Absence can't his Wrath asswage,
Or long, sincere Repentance calm his Rage;
Repentance, which high Heav'n does oftimes move,
And stay th' avenging Thunder from above!
Deaf as the Winds, relentless as the Waves,
Loudly of past Dishonours still he raves,
And thinks the Blood of ancient Vandal Kings,
From whom the haughty Tyrant dreams, he springs,
Stain'd and corrupted by that single Fault,
Which Love inspir'd, and which Occasion taught.
Loudly of past Dishonours still he raves,
And thinks the Blood of ancient Vandal Kings,
From whom the haughty Tyrant dreams, he springs,
Stain'd and corrupted by that single Fault,
Which Love inspir'd, and which Occasion taught.
Had I been destin'd to a Gallic Swain,
Or nurs'd in Freedom on some British Plain,
Th' unequal Marriage, the Compulsion dire,
The stern Commandment of a venal Sire
Had even to my Spouse, excus'd my Fire;
Nor thou
Jacinto, gen'rous, young, and brave,
Had'st by unmanly Treason found thy Grave!
But the proud Spaniard never can forgive;
His Fury, his Resentment still must live,
Tho' to this sad Recess for Life consign'd,
Before my Death I see myself inshrin'd;
Tho' shamefully submissive, I implore,
And tho' this dreaded Rival is no more!
Or nurs'd in Freedom on some British Plain,
Th' unequal Marriage, the Compulsion dire,
The stern Commandment of a venal Sire
Had even to my Spouse, excus'd my Fire;
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Had'st by unmanly Treason found thy Grave!
But the proud Spaniard never can forgive;
His Fury, his Resentment still must live,
Tho' to this sad Recess for Life consign'd,
Before my Death I see myself inshrin'd;
Tho' shamefully submissive, I implore,
And tho' this dreaded Rival is no more!
Hail, Monument, within whose sacred Isles
No gay Delight, no cheerful Object smiles!
How often do I tread thy Cloisters round,
And listen to the solemn Organ's Sound,
While Discipline, and meagre, short Repasts,
Devotion, Silence, Meditations, Fasts
The tedious Hours in a dull Course employ?
No kind Relief, no intervening Joy!
Here Cypress, baleful Yew, and Birds of Night
With hollow Winds to gloomy Thoughts invite.
No gay Delight, no cheerful Object smiles!
How often do I tread thy Cloisters round,
And listen to the solemn Organ's Sound,
While Discipline, and meagre, short Repasts,
Devotion, Silence, Meditations, Fasts
The tedious Hours in a dull Course employ?
No kind Relief, no intervening Joy!
Here Cypress, baleful Yew, and Birds of Night
With hollow Winds to gloomy Thoughts invite.
Heav'n, art thou just? and for one Crime alone
Must a whole Life of Mis'ry scarce attone?
Can nothing clear my once untainted Name?
Will Pride, and Envy never cease to blame?
Must a whole Life of Mis'ry scarce attone?
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Will Pride, and Envy never cease to blame?
Alas! poor Clara, fondly thou dost rave!
Hence, worldly Mind!—thou'rt wedded to thy Grave!
Come, Resignation, Patience, lead the Way
To the immortal Realms of endless Day!
There place thy Comfort! there thy Hopes employ!
There treasure up eternal Hoards of Joy!
In vain Religion claims thy Soul entire,
While at the Altar's Steps, and in the Choir,
The Mother mingles with thy holy Vows,
And the Remembrance of a barb'rous Spouse.
Yes, my Teresa, in the Height of Pray'r
Too oft I stray, and, with a Parent's Care,
Turn my fond Thoughts upon each op'ning Grace
I view'd so early in thy blooming Face,
When, full of Innocence, and native Charms,
An Infant thou wast ravish'd from my Arms.
O let me once again that Form behold,
And witness to Perfections I foretold!
So shall I rest, like some sad, wandring Shade,
Which speaks its Secret out, and then is laid.
Hence, worldly Mind!—thou'rt wedded to thy Grave!
Come, Resignation, Patience, lead the Way
To the immortal Realms of endless Day!
There place thy Comfort! there thy Hopes employ!
There treasure up eternal Hoards of Joy!
In vain Religion claims thy Soul entire,
While at the Altar's Steps, and in the Choir,
The Mother mingles with thy holy Vows,
And the Remembrance of a barb'rous Spouse.
Yes, my Teresa, in the Height of Pray'r
Too oft I stray, and, with a Parent's Care,
Turn my fond Thoughts upon each op'ning Grace
I view'd so early in thy blooming Face,
When, full of Innocence, and native Charms,
An Infant thou wast ravish'd from my Arms.
O let me once again that Form behold,
And witness to Perfections I foretold!
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Which speaks its Secret out, and then is laid.
Alas! my Child, thou start'st at my Desire:
Too far my Prison, too averse thy Sire.
Yet think Teresa, think, 'tis I invite!
Consent, to cheer a banish'd Mother's Sight.
This Boon thy Father sure will not refuse,
If on her Knees his tender Daughter sues.
Too far my Prison, too averse thy Sire.
Yet think Teresa, think, 'tis I invite!
Consent, to cheer a banish'd Mother's Sight.
This Boon thy Father sure will not refuse,
If on her Knees his tender Daughter sues.
Twelve Years in Sorrow now have slowly past,
Since I beheld thy growing Beauty last.
And now th' Iberian Youths in sweet distress
Its Laws, and sov'reign Pow'r must soon confess.
Many a Song, many a Serenade
To celebrate Teresa shall be made.
Since I beheld thy growing Beauty last.
And now th' Iberian Youths in sweet distress
Its Laws, and sov'reign Pow'r must soon confess.
Many a Song, many a Serenade
To celebrate Teresa shall be made.
But O Teresa! O my dearest Child!
Arm against Man! be not like me beguil'd!
If thou inherit'st all thy Mother's Soul,
If raging Venus wou'd thy Breast controul,
Shun the sweet Poison! fly the pleasing Smart!
And tremble to engage thy youthful Heart!
Yet let not Man alone be fear'd in Love:
Loose Books, and Pictures from thy Sight remove:
Soft Ovid first awak'd me to Desire,
Taught me to sigh, and fan'd the kindling Fire.
When on the Wall I saw coy Daphne fly,
Phoebus was painted with such Godlike Grace,
I wonder'd how the Nymph cou'd be so shy,
And often gaz'd, and wish'd me in her Place.
E'en of thy self, of thy own Sex beware:
Warm Sappho thought her neighb'ring Virgins fair.
Arm against Man! be not like me beguil'd!
If thou inherit'st all thy Mother's Soul,
If raging Venus wou'd thy Breast controul,
Shun the sweet Poison! fly the pleasing Smart!
And tremble to engage thy youthful Heart!
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Loose Books, and Pictures from thy Sight remove:
Soft Ovid first awak'd me to Desire,
Taught me to sigh, and fan'd the kindling Fire.
When on the Wall I saw coy Daphne fly,
Phoebus was painted with such Godlike Grace,
I wonder'd how the Nymph cou'd be so shy,
And often gaz'd, and wish'd me in her Place.
E'en of thy self, of thy own Sex beware:
Warm Sappho thought her neighb'ring Virgins fair.
Whate'er Success this fond Epistle meets,
Which from my Soul belov'd Teresa greets,
May the proud Arbiter of both our Fates,
The sullen Lord, on whom our Fortune waits,
Deign to accord thee to some gen'rous Youth,
Fam'd for his Love, his Virtue, and his Truth!
Amidst Castilian Matrons may'st thou shine,
And to his Name secure a fruitful Line!
While here the thorny Paths of Heav'n I tread,
To ev'ry Charm of earthly Pleasure dead,
Till, with long Penance worn, I yield to Death,
And bless Teresa in my latest Breath.
Which from my Soul belov'd Teresa greets,
May the proud Arbiter of both our Fates,
The sullen Lord, on whom our Fortune waits,
Deign to accord thee to some gen'rous Youth,
Fam'd for his Love, his Virtue, and his Truth!
Amidst Castilian Matrons may'st thou shine,
And to his Name secure a fruitful Line!
While here the thorny Paths of Heav'n I tread,
To ev'ry Charm of earthly Pleasure dead,
Till, with long Penance worn, I yield to Death,
And bless Teresa in my latest Breath.
FINIS.
| Donna Clara to her Daughter Teresa | |