The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
THE SORROWS OF MEMORY. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
258
THE SORROWS OF MEMORY.
In vain to me the howling deep
Stern Winter's awful reign discloses;
In vain shall Summer's zephyrs sleep
On fragrant beds of budding roses;
To me, alike each scene appears,
Since thou hast broke my heart, or nearly;
While Mem'ry writes in frequent tears
That I have lov'd thee very dearly!
Stern Winter's awful reign discloses;
In vain shall Summer's zephyrs sleep
On fragrant beds of budding roses;
To me, alike each scene appears,
Since thou hast broke my heart, or nearly;
While Mem'ry writes in frequent tears
That I have lov'd thee very dearly!
How many summers pass'd away,
How many winters sad and dreary,
And still I taught thee to be gay
Whene'er of life thy soul was weary;
When ling'ring sickness wrung thy breast,
And bow'd thee to the earth, or nearly,
I strove to lull thy mind to rest—
For then I lov'd thee, Oh! how dearly!
How many winters sad and dreary,
And still I taught thee to be gay
Whene'er of life thy soul was weary;
When ling'ring sickness wrung thy breast,
And bow'd thee to the earth, or nearly,
I strove to lull thy mind to rest—
For then I lov'd thee, Oh! how dearly!
259
And tho' the flush of joy no more
Shall, o'er my cheek its lustre throwing,
Bid giddy fools that cheek adore,
And talk of passion—ever glowing;
Still to my mind should time impart
A charm to bid it feel sincerely,
Nor idly wound a breaking heart,
That lov'd long and lov'd thee dearly.
Shall, o'er my cheek its lustre throwing,
Bid giddy fools that cheek adore,
And talk of passion—ever glowing;
Still to my mind should time impart
A charm to bid it feel sincerely,
Nor idly wound a breaking heart,
That lov'd long and lov'd thee dearly.
Could gold thy truant nature bind,
A faithful heart would still content me,
For oh! to keep that heart unkind,
I gave thee all that Fortune lent me!
In youth, when suitors round me press'd,
Who vow'd to love, and love sincerely;
When wealth could never charm my breast,
Tho' thou wert poor I lov'd thee dearly.
A faithful heart would still content me,
For oh! to keep that heart unkind,
I gave thee all that Fortune lent me!
In youth, when suitors round me press'd,
Who vow'd to love, and love sincerely;
When wealth could never charm my breast,
Tho' thou wert poor I lov'd thee dearly.
Seek not the fragile dreams of love,
Such fleeting phantoms will deceive thee;
They will but transient idols prove—
In wealth beguile, in sorrow leave thee.
Ah! dost thou hope the sordid mind
When thou art poor will feel sincerely?
Wilt thou in such that friendship find
Which warm'd the heart that lov'd thee dearly?
Such fleeting phantoms will deceive thee;
They will but transient idols prove—
In wealth beguile, in sorrow leave thee.
Ah! dost thou hope the sordid mind
When thou art poor will feel sincerely?
Wilt thou in such that friendship find
Which warm'd the heart that lov'd thee dearly?
260
Tho' fickle passions cease to burn
For her so long thy bosom's treasure,
Ah! think that reason may return
When far from thee my steps I measure;
Say who will then thy conscience heal,
Or who shall bid thy heart beat cheerly?
Or from that heart the mem'ry steal
Of her who lov'd thee long and dearly?
For her so long thy bosom's treasure,
Ah! think that reason may return
When far from thee my steps I measure;
Say who will then thy conscience heal,
Or who shall bid thy heart beat cheerly?
Or from that heart the mem'ry steal
Of her who lov'd thee long and dearly?
When war shall rouze the brooding storm,
And horrors haunt thy thorny pillow;
When fancy shall present my form
Borne on the wild and restless billow;
Or where wilt thou an helpmate find
Whose pulse, like mine, shall throb sincerely?
Or who thy heart in spells shall bind
When hers is broke that lov'd thee dearly?
And horrors haunt thy thorny pillow;
When fancy shall present my form
Borne on the wild and restless billow;
Or where wilt thou an helpmate find
Whose pulse, like mine, shall throb sincerely?
Or who thy heart in spells shall bind
When hers is broke that lov'd thee dearly?
I will not court thy fickle love
Soon shall our fates and fortunes sever;
Far from thy scorn will I remove,
And smiling, sigh adieu for ever!
Give to the sordid fiend thy days,
Still trust that they will act sincerely,
And when the specious mask decays,
Lament the heart that lov'd thee dearly!
Soon shall our fates and fortunes sever;
Far from thy scorn will I remove,
And smiling, sigh adieu for ever!
Give to the sordid fiend thy days,
Still trust that they will act sincerely,
And when the specious mask decays,
Lament the heart that lov'd thee dearly!
261
For Time will swiftly journey on,
And Age and Sickness haste to meet thee;
Friends prov'd deceitful—will be gone
When they no more with smiles can cheat thee.
Then wilt thou seek in vain to find
A faithful heart that beats sincerely;
A passion cent'ring in a mind
Which, scorning int'rest, lov'd thee dearly.
And Age and Sickness haste to meet thee;
Friends prov'd deceitful—will be gone
When they no more with smiles can cheat thee.
Then wilt thou seek in vain to find
A faithful heart that beats sincerely;
A passion cent'ring in a mind
Which, scorning int'rest, lov'd thee dearly.
When in the grave this heart shall sleep,
No soothing dream will bless thy slumber,
For thou perchance may'st wake to weep,
And with remorse my sorrows number!
My shade will haunt thy aching eyes,
My voice in whispers tell thee clearly
How cold at last that bosom lies
Which lov'd thee long, and lov'd thee dearly!
No soothing dream will bless thy slumber,
For thou perchance may'st wake to weep,
And with remorse my sorrows number!
My shade will haunt thy aching eyes,
My voice in whispers tell thee clearly
How cold at last that bosom lies
Which lov'd thee long, and lov'd thee dearly!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |