The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
TO THE SAME, ON HIS RECOVERING FROM A LONG INDISPOSITION, IN MAY, 1793. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
287
TO THE SAME, ON HIS RECOVERING FROM A LONG INDISPOSITION, IN MAY, 1793.
Go, balmy gales, and tell Lisardo's ear,
That Health comes smiling on the wings of Morn;
Tell him, that sweet Repose approaches near,
To banish fev'rish Days, and Nights forlorn.
That Health comes smiling on the wings of Morn;
Tell him, that sweet Repose approaches near,
To banish fev'rish Days, and Nights forlorn.
Brightly the Sun-beams on the mountains break,
And whisp'ring Zephyrs shake their wings around;
The Day-star steals away in lustre meek,
And spreading glories gild the dewy ground.
And whisp'ring Zephyrs shake their wings around;
The Day-star steals away in lustre meek,
And spreading glories gild the dewy ground.
Exulting Flora opes her varying hues;
The Valley smiles, the verdant Hills look gay;
From her abundant store Profusion strews
The buds and tints of rosy-bosom'd May.
The Valley smiles, the verdant Hills look gay;
From her abundant store Profusion strews
The buds and tints of rosy-bosom'd May.
The lofty woodlands wave their leafy heads,
To wake the plumy trav'llers of the air;
The low-born lilies, on their humid beds,
Expand their spotless bosoms, fresh and fair.
To wake the plumy trav'llers of the air;
The low-born lilies, on their humid beds,
Expand their spotless bosoms, fresh and fair.
288
Slow winds the brawling river through the vales;
Down the rough rock the roaring torrents flee,
The high-pois'd lark on floods of ether sails,
To greet the Lord of Light with songs of glee.
Down the rough rock the roaring torrents flee,
The high-pois'd lark on floods of ether sails,
To greet the Lord of Light with songs of glee.
Soft is the perfume of Morn's beauteous breast,
And soft the murmurs of the insect train;
While Nature's hand, with pearly lustre drest,
Leads tip-toe Pleasure o'er the glitt'ring plain.
And soft the murmurs of the insect train;
While Nature's hand, with pearly lustre drest,
Leads tip-toe Pleasure o'er the glitt'ring plain.
For thee, Lisardo, she unfolds her store,
For thee she weaves a garland, proudly gay;
Come then, my Friend, the lib'ral Nymph adore,
And own that Rapture is the child of May.
For thee she weaves a garland, proudly gay;
Come then, my Friend, the lib'ral Nymph adore,
And own that Rapture is the child of May.
And while returning Health pervades each nerve,
As April Suns disperse the wintry gloom,
The sad rememb'rance of past “woe shall serve
For sweet discourses in our time to come.”
As April Suns disperse the wintry gloom,
The sad rememb'rance of past “woe shall serve
For sweet discourses in our time to come.”
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |