The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
STANZAS.
|
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
266
STANZAS.
[Hark! 'tis the merry bells that ring]
Hark! 'tis the merry bells that ring
On yonder upland sunny green;
Their sounds to mournful mem'ry bring
The blissful days and hours I've seen:
Their swelling changes die away,
So did my heart's best love decay!
On yonder upland sunny green;
Their sounds to mournful mem'ry bring
The blissful days and hours I've seen:
Their swelling changes die away,
So did my heart's best love decay!
Hark! 'tis the Beetle flitting round,
O'er yonder hawthorn fresh and sweet;
Once could I mock the drowsy sound,
With Henry on the greensward seat:
But now I weep to hear its tone,
For, O! my heart's true love is flown!
O'er yonder hawthorn fresh and sweet;
Once could I mock the drowsy sound,
With Henry on the greensward seat:
But now I weep to hear its tone,
For, O! my heart's true love is flown!
Hark! 'tis the Raven's dismal croak,
My boding breast is chill'd with fear!
Yet once beneath yon spreading oak
The bird of woe I smil'd to hear:
For Love and Fancy chear'd the gloom,
Where now the turf marks Henry's tomb!
My boding breast is chill'd with fear!
Yet once beneath yon spreading oak
The bird of woe I smil'd to hear:
For Love and Fancy chear'd the gloom,
Where now the turf marks Henry's tomb!
267
Come, pale-cheek'd Vestal of the night,
And spangle the long grass with dew;
Deck the tall woods with silv'ry light,
And buds of fragrant flow'rets strew;
While Love in secret sorrow hies
To guard the grave—where Henry lies!
And spangle the long grass with dew;
Deck the tall woods with silv'ry light,
And buds of fragrant flow'rets strew;
While Love in secret sorrow hies
To guard the grave—where Henry lies!
There will I lay me down forlorn,
And close my weeping eyes, and die!
And when the smiling blushing morn
Shall rush along the eastern sky,
There shall the thronging village see,
To part no more, my love and me!
And close my weeping eyes, and die!
And when the smiling blushing morn
Shall rush along the eastern sky,
There shall the thronging village see,
To part no more, my love and me!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |