The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
LIFE. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
193
LIFE.
“What is this world?—thy school, O misery!
“Our only lesson is to learn to suffer.”
YOUNG.
“Our only lesson is to learn to suffer.”
YOUNG.
Love, thou sportive fickle boy,
Source of anguish, child of joy,
Ever wounding—ever smiling,
Soothing still, and still beguiling:
What are all thy boasted treasures,
Tender sorrows, transient pleasures?
Anxious hopes, and jealous fears,
Laughing hours, and mourning years.
Fancy's balm for ev'ry wound,
Ever sought, but rarely found!
Deck'd with brightest tints at morn,
At twilight with'ring on a thorn;
Like the gentle rose of spring,
Chill'd by ev'ry zephyr's wing:
Ah! how soon its colour flies,
Blushes, trembles, falls, and dies.
Source of anguish, child of joy,
Ever wounding—ever smiling,
Soothing still, and still beguiling:
What are all thy boasted treasures,
Tender sorrows, transient pleasures?
Anxious hopes, and jealous fears,
Laughing hours, and mourning years.
Fancy's balm for ev'ry wound,
Ever sought, but rarely found!
Deck'd with brightest tints at morn,
At twilight with'ring on a thorn;
Like the gentle rose of spring,
Chill'd by ev'ry zephyr's wing:
Ah! how soon its colour flies,
Blushes, trembles, falls, and dies.
194
What is Youth?—a smiling sorrow,
Blithe to-day, and sad to-morrow;
Never fix'd, for ever ranging,
Laughing, weeping, doating, changing;
Wild, capricious, giddy, vain,
Cloy'd with pleasure, nurs'd with pain;
Age steals on with wint'ry face,
Ev'ry rapt'rous Hope to chase;
Like a wither'd, sapless tree,
Bow'd to chilling Fate's decree;
Strip'd of all its foilage gay,
Drooping at the close of day;
What of tedious Life remains?
Keen regrets and cureless pains;
Till Death appears, a welcome friend,
To bid the scene of sorrow end.
Blithe to-day, and sad to-morrow;
Never fix'd, for ever ranging,
Laughing, weeping, doating, changing;
Wild, capricious, giddy, vain,
Cloy'd with pleasure, nurs'd with pain;
Age steals on with wint'ry face,
Ev'ry rapt'rous Hope to chase;
Like a wither'd, sapless tree,
Bow'd to chilling Fate's decree;
Strip'd of all its foilage gay,
Drooping at the close of day;
What of tedious Life remains?
Keen regrets and cureless pains;
Till Death appears, a welcome friend,
To bid the scene of sorrow end.
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |