The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
THE WORST OF ILLS. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
344
THE WORST OF ILLS.
What wounds more deep than arrows keen
Piercing the heart subdu'd;
What renders life a dreary scene?
Thy sting, Ingratitude!
Piercing the heart subdu'd;
What renders life a dreary scene?
Thy sting, Ingratitude!
For ev'ry pain that man can know
Has still an antidote for woe,
Save where Ingratitude is found
Giving its deep and deadly wound.
Has still an antidote for woe,
Save where Ingratitude is found
Giving its deep and deadly wound.
Does Love neglected, pining sad,
On ev'ry joy obtrude;
Does Pleasure fly the bosom glad.
Stung by Ingratitude?
On ev'ry joy obtrude;
Does Pleasure fly the bosom glad.
Stung by Ingratitude?
Oh, yes! for what is life to those
Who find no hour of soft repose,
Who trace in ev'ry path that weed
Which bids the feeling bosom bleed?
Who find no hour of soft repose,
Who trace in ev'ry path that weed
Which bids the feeling bosom bleed?
345
Thou fiend Ingratitude! to thee
All lesser evils bend;
Thou potent shaft of destiny,
Where will thy poisons end?
All lesser evils bend;
Thou potent shaft of destiny,
Where will thy poisons end?
The wretch who smarts beneath thy fang,
Day after day endures the pang,
And finds there is no balm to cure
Thy wound, for ever deep and sure!
Day after day endures the pang,
And finds there is no balm to cure
Thy wound, for ever deep and sure!
Where'er in life's precarious scene
My weary feet have stray'd,
Thou hast my taunting follower been
In sunshine and in shade.
My weary feet have stray'd,
Thou hast my taunting follower been
In sunshine and in shade.
In poverty I found thee ever
The bonds of social feelings sever;
And when I sunk by grief subdu'd,
I felt thy wound, Ingratitude!
The bonds of social feelings sever;
And when I sunk by grief subdu'd,
I felt thy wound, Ingratitude!
I found thee in the smile of Love,
In Friendship's sacred vest,
In rustic meekness saw thee move,
Pois'ning the untaught breast.
In Friendship's sacred vest,
In rustic meekness saw thee move,
Pois'ning the untaught breast.
When Fortune, often dull and blind,
Heap'd splendour on the vulgar mind,
Scattering on pride and vice her favour,
Ingratitude, I found thee ever!
Heap'd splendour on the vulgar mind,
Scattering on pride and vice her favour,
Ingratitude, I found thee ever!
346
Thou Imp destructive! bane of rest,
Turn from my aching heart;
Nor still in artful kindness drest,
Thy fatal stings impart.
Turn from my aching heart;
Nor still in artful kindness drest,
Thy fatal stings impart.
This bosom, long assail'd by thee,
No more thy victim slave shall be;
No more shall be by thee subdu'd,
Thou worst of ills—Ingratitude!
No more thy victim slave shall be;
No more shall be by thee subdu'd,
Thou worst of ills—Ingratitude!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |