The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson ::

Lightly on the breath of morn
See the shades of twilight borne;
See the sun, in splendour drest,
Lifting high his flaming crest!
Earth receives him bath'd in tears,
Sprinkled from the starry spheres,
When the chilly pale-fac'd moon
Journey'd to her shad'wy noon!

Hark! a plaintive voice I hear,
Whisp'ring to my pensive ear:
“Oberon,” it seems to say,
“Gentle Fairy, haste away;
Haste on Health's ambrosial wing,
Freshest dews of morning bring,
Balmy breezes, such as spread
Hebe's cheek with glowing red;
Such as in Helvetia's bow'rs
Gently fan the Austral show'rs!

314

“Swift as thought, dear Spirit, fly,
Wake to joy my darling's eye!
Now with perfumes bathe her breast,
Now compose her pangs to rest;
Haste, exert thy magic pow'r,
Danger lurks in ev'ry hour!”

From the Tulip's ample dome,
Anxious mourner, see, I come!
Now behold my filmy vest,
Gay with gaudy Cowslips drest!
See the King-cup's burnish'd bell
Half my dainty brows conceal;
See my acorn goblet fill'd
With drops of Ether, thrice distill'd;
Wings I've stol'n, of rainbow die,
From the vagrant Butterfly;
Myrtle leaves my sandals are,
Ty'd with strings of golden hair;
Flossy streamers fan the wind,
From the Silk-worm's web purloin'd,
Which the toiling insect wove
For the killing eyes of Love!
For the God, as mortals know,
Blindly twangs his fatal bow!

While I top the beacon's head;
While I skim o'er Ocean's bed,

315

Ere the Sun, with burning eye,
O'er the welkin's brow shall fly
Or with fiery pinions sweep
Proudly down the western steep;
Or his burnish'd mantle fling
O'er the dauntless eagle's wing;
Ere upon the world below
Evening's crimson blushes glow,
Fair Maria's fev'rish lip
Shall Hygeia's balsam sip!

Many a verdant leaf I bear,
Gifted with perfections rare!
Stripp'd from roots of wond'rous pow'r,
When at midnight's silent hour
On the Zephyr's wings I sail,
Sweeping from the Primrose pale
Dew, that o'er its sickly face
Sheds a ray of sparkling grace.

Nor in these alone I find
Charms to heal the wounded mind:
From the Poppy I have ta'en
Mortal's balm, and mortal's bane!
Juice that, creeping through the heart,
Deadens ev'ry sense of smart;
Doom'd to heal, or doom'd to kill,
Fraught with good, or fraught with ill.

316

This I stole, when witches fell,
Busy o'er a murd'rous spell,
On the dark and barren plain,
Echo'd back the night-owl's strain!
While the winking stars withdrew,
Shock'd their horrid rites to view.

See, to crown the precious heap,
Drops, that modest Vi'lets weep,
When the rosy-bosom'd May
Rushes forth in colours gay,
Scatt'ring from her perfum'd wing
All the rival flow'rs of Spring!
Flow'rs that lift their haughty heads
High above their native beds,
Shading o'er the icy cheek
Of the fainting Snow-drop meek!

These shall sprinkle soothing balm,
Ev'ry throbbing pulse to calm!
Round Maria's aching head
Soon the healing drops I'll shed:
When they reach her languid eye,
Soon the rending pang shall fly;
From her pale and alter'd face,
Health the sickly hue shall chase!
Health, that through the bosom flows,
And bathes the cheek—a living Rose!

317

Nor e'en then will I depart
From the gentle maiden's heart:
Fondly vigilant, I'll fly
O'er the earth, or through the sky;
Still with restless pinions sweep
O'er the terrors of the deep;
Or with wings of light'ning soar
High as Heav'n's star-spangl'd floor!
When the silent Queen of night,
Deck'd in silv'ry armour bright;
Seated in her shad'wy chair,
Sails, despotic, through the air!
Till the monarch of the sky
Bids the pale usurper fly,
While the wanton Sprites and Fays
Vanish from his potent gaze;
Till, to cheer the sportive train,
Witching Night returns again.

Yes, where'er the damsel strays
Through dull life's perplexing maze,
Watchful Oberon shall be
Guardian of her destiny!

University of Virginia Library

INVOCATION TO OBERON,

Written on the Recovery of my Daughter from Inoculation.