The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
TO SIMPLICITY. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
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TO SIMPLICITY.
Sweet blushing Nymph, who loves to dwell
In the dark forest's silent gloom;
Who smiles within the Hermit's cell,
And sighs upon the rustic's tomb;
Who, pitying, sees the busy throng,
The slaves of fashion's giddy sway;
And in a wild and artless song
Warbles the feath'ry hours away.
In the dark forest's silent gloom;
Who smiles within the Hermit's cell,
And sighs upon the rustic's tomb;
Who, pitying, sees the busy throng,
The slaves of fashion's giddy sway;
And in a wild and artless song
Warbles the feath'ry hours away.
Oft have I flown thy steps to trace
In the low valley's still retreat,
Oft have I view'd thy blooming face
In the small cottage, proudly neat:
I've seen thee veil'd in vestal lawn,
In the cold cloyster's hallow'd shade;
I've seen thee at the peep of dawn,
In simple russet garb array'd.
In the low valley's still retreat,
Oft have I view'd thy blooming face
In the small cottage, proudly neat:
I've seen thee veil'd in vestal lawn,
In the cold cloyster's hallow'd shade;
I've seen thee at the peep of dawn,
In simple russet garb array'd.
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I've seen thee, crown'd with April flow'rs,
Light bounding o'er the rural mead;
I've heard thee in sequester'd bow'rs
Sing to the Shepherd's past'ral reed;
When pleasure led the nymphs along
In moonlight gambols o'er the green,
I've mark'd thee, fairest of the throng,
With modest eye and timid mien.
Light bounding o'er the rural mead;
I've heard thee in sequester'd bow'rs
Sing to the Shepherd's past'ral reed;
When pleasure led the nymphs along
In moonlight gambols o'er the green,
I've mark'd thee, fairest of the throng,
With modest eye and timid mien.
No more my eager gaze shall trace
Thy varying footsteps, blithe and free;
For what art thou but native grace,
Soft Beauty's child, Simplicity!
'Tis thine in every path to dwell
Where Truth and Innocence are seen,
In cottage low, or Hermit's cell,
Or splendid dome, or rural green.
Thy varying footsteps, blithe and free;
For what art thou but native grace,
Soft Beauty's child, Simplicity!
'Tis thine in every path to dwell
Where Truth and Innocence are seen,
In cottage low, or Hermit's cell,
Or splendid dome, or rural green.
The spotless Mind, the brow serene,
'Tis thine, enchanting Maid, to boast!
The sweet, benignant, humble mien,
And all that Virtue values most!
Thy blushes paint Duncannon's cheek,
Thy light hand weaves her golden hair,
Around her form, thy charms I'll seek,
For all the graces revel there!
'Tis thine, enchanting Maid, to boast!
The sweet, benignant, humble mien,
And all that Virtue values most!
Thy blushes paint Duncannon's cheek,
Thy light hand weaves her golden hair,
Around her form, thy charms I'll seek,
For all the graces revel there!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |