The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
STANZAS FROM THE NATURAL DAUGHTER. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
256
STANZAS FROM THE NATURAL DAUGHTER.
Unhappy is the Pilgrim's lot
Who wanders o'er the desert heath,
By friends and by the world forgot,
Whose only hope depends on Death!
Yet may he smile when mem'ry shews
The tort'ring stings, the weary woes
Which forc'd his bosom to abide
The vulgar scorn of vulgar pride.
Who wanders o'er the desert heath,
By friends and by the world forgot,
Whose only hope depends on Death!
Yet may he smile when mem'ry shews
The tort'ring stings, the weary woes
Which forc'd his bosom to abide
The vulgar scorn of vulgar pride.
Forlorn is he who on the sand
Of some bleak isle his hovel rears,
Or shipwreck'd on the breezy strand,
The billows' deep'ning murmur hears.
Yet, when his aching eyes survey
The white sails gliding far away,
He feels he shall no more abide
The vulgar scorn of vulgar pride.
Of some bleak isle his hovel rears,
Or shipwreck'd on the breezy strand,
The billows' deep'ning murmur hears.
Yet, when his aching eyes survey
The white sails gliding far away,
He feels he shall no more abide
The vulgar scorn of vulgar pride.
257
Sadly the exiled Trav'ller strays,
Benighted in some forest drear,
Where, by the paly star-light rays,
He sees no hut, no hovel, near.
The fire-ey'd wolf, which howls for prey,
Glares hideous in his briery way,
Yet he can smile—for he has borne
The sneers of pride and vulgar scorn.
Benighted in some forest drear,
Where, by the paly star-light rays,
He sees no hut, no hovel, near.
The fire-ey'd wolf, which howls for prey,
Glares hideous in his briery way,
Yet he can smile—for he has borne
The sneers of pride and vulgar scorn.
Of all the ills the feeling mind
Is destin'd in this world to share;
Of pain and poverty combin'd,
Of Friendship's frown, or Love's despair;
Still reason arms the conscious soul,
And bids it ev'ry pang controul,
Save when the patient heart is tried
By vulgar scorn and vulgar pride.
Is destin'd in this world to share;
Of pain and poverty combin'd,
Of Friendship's frown, or Love's despair;
Still reason arms the conscious soul,
And bids it ev'ry pang controul,
Save when the patient heart is tried
By vulgar scorn and vulgar pride.
Go, Wealth, and in the Hermit's cell
Behold that peace thou canst not have;
Go, Rank, and list the passing knell
That warns thee to oblivion's grave.
Go, Pow'r, and when the peasant's breast
Enjoys the balm of conscious rest,
Confess that Virtue can deride
The vulgar scorn of vulgar pride.
Behold that peace thou canst not have;
Go, Rank, and list the passing knell
That warns thee to oblivion's grave.
Go, Pow'r, and when the peasant's breast
Enjoys the balm of conscious rest,
Confess that Virtue can deride
The vulgar scorn of vulgar pride.
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |