The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
TO A FALSE FRIEND.
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| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
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TO A FALSE FRIEND.
IN IMITATION OF SAPPHO.
The seasons, lover false! are changing slow,
And now Winter passes by on snowy wing;
Swiftly the zephyrs bid their pinions go,
Wafting the perfum'd harbinger of Spring!
The Summer blushes as she steals away,
And short, though splendid, is her glowing day!
And now Winter passes by on snowy wing;
Swiftly the zephyrs bid their pinions go,
Wafting the perfum'd harbinger of Spring!
The Summer blushes as she steals away,
And short, though splendid, is her glowing day!
Then Autumn comes, in tawny graces drest,
And in majestic solemn pomp retires;
Rich are the trappings of her burning breast,
And her broad eye flames undulating fires!
I greet thee, Season! for my ardent soul
Like thee, must own, the stormy hours controul!
And in majestic solemn pomp retires;
Rich are the trappings of her burning breast,
And her broad eye flames undulating fires!
I greet thee, Season! for my ardent soul
Like thee, must own, the stormy hours controul!
The Spring of joy no more shall bid me see
Young budding blossoms of delightful hue!
Nor shall luxuriant Summer smile for me;
Nor thou, red Autumn, open to my view!
Then come, thou season turbulent, and prove
How weak thy storm oppos'd to hopeless love!
Young budding blossoms of delightful hue!
Nor shall luxuriant Summer smile for me;
Nor thou, red Autumn, open to my view!
Then come, thou season turbulent, and prove
How weak thy storm oppos'd to hopeless love!
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In vain you fly me! on the madd'ning main
Sappho shall haunt thee 'mid the whirlwind's roar;
Sappho shall o'er the mountains chaunt her strain,
And Echo bear it to thy distant shore!
No scene upon the world's wide space shall be
A scene of rest, ungrateful man, to thee!
Sappho shall haunt thee 'mid the whirlwind's roar;
Sappho shall o'er the mountains chaunt her strain,
And Echo bear it to thy distant shore!
No scene upon the world's wide space shall be
A scene of rest, ungrateful man, to thee!
When the wind howls along the forest drear,
Or faintly whispers on the curling sea,
My voice upon the dying gale to hear
Thou shalt awake—and call, in vain, on me!
And when the morning beam illumes the sky,
My faded form shall meet thy sleepless eye!
Or faintly whispers on the curling sea,
My voice upon the dying gale to hear
Thou shalt awake—and call, in vain, on me!
And when the morning beam illumes the sky,
My faded form shall meet thy sleepless eye!
False Lover! no, upon the tow'ring steep,
Where Fame her temple rears, defying Time,
Sappho shall mark unaw'd the bounding deep,
And meet her fate with fortitude sublime!
And while thy name to blank Oblivion fades,
Sappho shall smiling seek th' Elysian shades.
Where Fame her temple rears, defying Time,
Sappho shall mark unaw'd the bounding deep,
And meet her fate with fortitude sublime!
And while thy name to blank Oblivion fades,
Sappho shall smiling seek th' Elysian shades.
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |