The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
STANZAS
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| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
268
STANZAS
FROM THE NATURAL DAUGHTER.
'Tis night! and o'er the barren plain
The weary wand'rer bends his way;
While on his path the silv'ry ray
Soothes him with hope that he shall see
The moony shadows quickly flee,
And morn return again.
The weary wand'rer bends his way;
While on his path the silv'ry ray
Soothes him with hope that he shall see
The moony shadows quickly flee,
And morn return again.
The blast blows nipping on his breast,
Swift flies the wild and foamy stream;
Yet Hope presents a feeble gleam,
That ere day rises he shall close
His weary lids in soft repose
Upon a bed of rest.
Swift flies the wild and foamy stream;
Yet Hope presents a feeble gleam,
That ere day rises he shall close
His weary lids in soft repose
Upon a bed of rest.
The moon is dim, by clouds o'ercast,
Loud roars the torrent down the vale;
The wand'rer's cheek is cold and pale,
He hears the owl with boding cry
Across the dreary desart fly,
He starts, and stops aghast!
Loud roars the torrent down the vale;
The wand'rer's cheek is cold and pale,
He hears the owl with boding cry
Across the dreary desart fly,
He starts, and stops aghast!
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And now in haste, with dumb despair,
O'er bush and brier he bends his way;
No cottage taper's length'ning ray
Gleams faint across the barren heath,
He trembles, sighs, and thinks of death,
And breathes a timid pray'r.
O'er bush and brier he bends his way;
No cottage taper's length'ning ray
Gleams faint across the barren heath,
He trembles, sighs, and thinks of death,
And breathes a timid pray'r.
And now the dawn is rising fast,
Soft flies the fresh and chearing gale;
The red'ning clouds on light wings sail,
The dew begems the fragrant heath:
No more he starts or thinks of death,
Or sighs for sorrows past.
Soft flies the fresh and chearing gale;
The red'ning clouds on light wings sail,
The dew begems the fragrant heath:
No more he starts or thinks of death,
Or sighs for sorrows past.
So, through life's journey we descry
Man gay or sad; he weeps or smiles
As cares annoy, or hope beguiles:
Then blest are those who wisely say,
“We will enjoy the present day,—
To-morrow we may die!”
Man gay or sad; he weeps or smiles
As cares annoy, or hope beguiles:
Then blest are those who wisely say,
“We will enjoy the present day,—
To-morrow we may die!”
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |