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 |  |
321
STANZAS.
[Bounding billow, cease thy motion]
Bounding billow, cease thy motion,
Bear me not so swiftly o'er!
Cease thy roaring, foamy Ocean!
I will tempt thy rage no more.
Bear me not so swiftly o'er!
Cease thy roaring, foamy Ocean!
I will tempt thy rage no more.
Ah! within my bosom beating,
Varying passions wildly reign!
Love, with proud resentment meeting,
Throbs by turns of joy and pain!
Varying passions wildly reign!
Love, with proud resentment meeting,
Throbs by turns of joy and pain!
Joy, that far from foes I wander,
Where their arts can reach no more;
Pain, that woman's heart grows fonder,
When the dream of bliss is o'er.
Where their arts can reach no more;
Pain, that woman's heart grows fonder,
When the dream of bliss is o'er.
322
Love, by fickle fancy banish'd,
Spurn'd by Hope, indignant flies:
Yet, when Love and Hope are vanish'd,
Restless Mem'ry never dies!
Spurn'd by Hope, indignant flies:
Yet, when Love and Hope are vanish'd,
Restless Mem'ry never dies!
Far I go, where Fate shall lead me,
Far across the troubled deep!
Where no stranger's ear shall heed me,
Where no eye for me shall weep.
Far across the troubled deep!
Where no stranger's ear shall heed me,
Where no eye for me shall weep.
Proud has been my fatal passion,
Proud my injur'd heart shall be!
While each thought and inclination
Proves that heart was form'd for thee!
Proud my injur'd heart shall be!
While each thought and inclination
Proves that heart was form'd for thee!
Not one sigh shall tell my story,
Not one tear my cheek shall stain;
Silent grief shall be my glory,
Grief that stoops not to complain.
Not one tear my cheek shall stain;
Silent grief shall be my glory,
Grief that stoops not to complain.
Let the bosom, prone to ranging,
Still, by ranging, seek a cure:
Mine disdains the thought of changing,
Proudly destin'd to endure!
Still, by ranging, seek a cure:
Mine disdains the thought of changing,
Proudly destin'd to endure!
323
Yet, ere far from all I treasur'd,
T---! ere I bid adieu,
Ere my days of pain are measur'd,
Take the song that's still thy due!
T---! ere I bid adieu,
Ere my days of pain are measur'd,
Take the song that's still thy due!
Yet believe, no servile passions
Seek to charm thy wand'ring mind;
Well I know thy inclinations,
Wav'ring as the passing wind!
Seek to charm thy wand'ring mind;
Well I know thy inclinations,
Wav'ring as the passing wind!
I have lov'd thee, dearly lov'd thee,
Through an age of worldly woe!
How ungrateful I have prov'd thee,
Let my mournful exile show.
Through an age of worldly woe!
How ungrateful I have prov'd thee,
Let my mournful exile show.
Ten long years of anxious sorrow,
Hour by hour, I counted o'er;
Looking forward 'till to-morrow,
Ev'ry day I lov'd thee more.
Hour by hour, I counted o'er;
Looking forward 'till to-morrow,
Ev'ry day I lov'd thee more.
Pow'r and splendour could not charm me,
I no joy in wealth could see;
Nor could threats or fears alarm me—
Save the fear of losing thee.
I no joy in wealth could see;
Nor could threats or fears alarm me—
Save the fear of losing thee.
324
When the storms of fortune press'd thee,
I have sigh'd to hear thee sigh;
Or when sorrows dire distress'd thee,
I have bid those sorrows fly!
I have sigh'd to hear thee sigh;
Or when sorrows dire distress'd thee,
I have bid those sorrows fly!
Often hast thou smiling told me,
Wealth and pow'r were trifling things;
While Love, smiling to behold me,
Mock'd cold Time's destructive wings.
Wealth and pow'r were trifling things;
While Love, smiling to behold me,
Mock'd cold Time's destructive wings.
When with thee, what ills could harm me?
Thou couldst every pang assuage!
Now, alas! what Hope can charm me?
Every moment seems an age!
Thou couldst every pang assuage!
Now, alas! what Hope can charm me?
Every moment seems an age!
Fare thee well, ungrateful rover!
Welcome Gallia's hostile shore:
Now the breezes waft me over;
Now we part—to meet no more!
Welcome Gallia's hostile shore:
Now the breezes waft me over;
Now we part—to meet no more!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |