The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
LINES TO MARIA, MY BELOVED DAUGHTER. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
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LINES TO MARIA, MY BELOVED DAUGHTER.
To paint the lust'rous streaks of morn,
Along the pale horizon borne,
When from Aurora's opening eye
Effulgent glory gilds the sky;
Or yet a softer theme to sing
Of purple evening's humid wing;
To trace the crystal car of night
Along the plains of starry light,
Where the chaste Goddess bends her way,
Diffusing round a trembling ray;—
No more shall charm my pensive Muse,
With transient forms, or varying hues:
This hour my tenderer task shall be,
Sweet darling Maid, to sing of thee!
Along the pale horizon borne,
When from Aurora's opening eye
Effulgent glory gilds the sky;
Or yet a softer theme to sing
Of purple evening's humid wing;
To trace the crystal car of night
Along the plains of starry light,
Where the chaste Goddess bends her way,
Diffusing round a trembling ray;—
No more shall charm my pensive Muse,
With transient forms, or varying hues:
This hour my tenderer task shall be,
Sweet darling Maid, to sing of thee!
Attend my strain, and while I blend
The Guardian, Parent, Poet, Friend,
Believe, as each my verse shall prove,
A picture fraught with truth and love,
And every candid line impart
The feelings of a Mother's heart!
The Guardian, Parent, Poet, Friend,
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A picture fraught with truth and love,
And every candid line impart
The feelings of a Mother's heart!
Oh! form'd to soothe the wounds of Fate,
Dear solace of my mournful state!
Thou, only blessing Heav'n bestows
To shed meek Patience on my woes!
Know—that in life's disast'rous scene,
Whate'er my chequer'd lot has been,
No hour was yet so dear to me
As that blest hour which gave me thee!
Dear solace of my mournful state!
Thou, only blessing Heav'n bestows
To shed meek Patience on my woes!
Know—that in life's disast'rous scene,
Whate'er my chequer'd lot has been,
No hour was yet so dear to me
As that blest hour which gave me thee!
From infant sweetness still I've trac'd
Thy mind, with ev'ry virtue grac'd;
Still have I mark'd Time's ceaseless wing
Some new endearing treasure bring;
While Hope, soft-whisp'ring, bid me gaze
On bright'ning scenes of distant days,
When, more matur'd, these doating eyes
Should see the lovelier woman rise,
Adorn'd with all the modest grace
That beam'd about thy infant face;
Yet with a mind more passing fair
Than all that Nature pictur'd there!
Thy mind, with ev'ry virtue grac'd;
Still have I mark'd Time's ceaseless wing
Some new endearing treasure bring;
While Hope, soft-whisp'ring, bid me gaze
On bright'ning scenes of distant days,
When, more matur'd, these doating eyes
Should see the lovelier woman rise,
Adorn'd with all the modest grace
That beam'd about thy infant face;
Yet with a mind more passing fair
Than all that Nature pictur'd there!
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With such a mind, so richly stor'd,
Still may'st thou live, admir'd, ador'd!
Through life enjoy the bliss divine
That waits on innocence like thine!
Still greet the morn with conscious smile,
With tranquil scenes the hours beguile;
And, when the busy day shall close,
Still find a couch of sweet repose!
Still may'st thou live, admir'd, ador'd!
Through life enjoy the bliss divine
That waits on innocence like thine!
Still greet the morn with conscious smile,
With tranquil scenes the hours beguile;
And, when the busy day shall close,
Still find a couch of sweet repose!
For me, so long ordain'd to trace
O'er life's dark wild a thorny space—
Still ev'ry sorrow doom'd to share,
Still shall my heart those sorrows bear,
Nor will I mourn at Fate's decree,
If Heav'n, in pity, spares me thee!
O'er life's dark wild a thorny space—
Still ev'ry sorrow doom'd to share,
Still shall my heart those sorrows bear,
Nor will I mourn at Fate's decree,
If Heav'n, in pity, spares me thee!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |