The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
THE WINTRY DAY. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
354
THE WINTRY DAY.
Is it in mansions rich and gay,
On downy beds, or couches warm,
That Nature owns the wintry day,
And shrinks to hear the howling storm?
Ah! No!
On downy beds, or couches warm,
That Nature owns the wintry day,
And shrinks to hear the howling storm?
Ah! No!
Tis on the bleak and barren heath,
Where Mis'ry feels the ice of death,
As to the dark and freezing grave
Her children, not a friend to save,
Unheeded go!
Where Mis'ry feels the ice of death,
As to the dark and freezing grave
Her children, not a friend to save,
Unheeded go!
Is it in chambers silken drest,
At tables which profusions heap,
Is it on pillows soft to rest,
In dreams of long and balmy sleep?
Ah! No!
At tables which profusions heap,
Is it on pillows soft to rest,
In dreams of long and balmy sleep?
Ah! No!
355
'Tis in the rushy hut obscure,
Where Poverty's low sons endure,
And, scarcely daring to repine,
On a straw pallet, mute, recline,
O'erwhelm'd with woe!
Where Poverty's low sons endure,
And, scarcely daring to repine,
On a straw pallet, mute, recline,
O'erwhelm'd with woe!
Is it to flaunt in warm attire,
To laugh, to feast, and dance, and sing;
To crowd around the blazing fire,
And make the roof with revels ring?
Ah! No!
To laugh, to feast, and dance, and sing;
To crowd around the blazing fire,
And make the roof with revels ring?
Ah! No!
'Tis on the prison's flinty floor,
'Tis where the deaf'ning whirlwinds roar;
'Tis when the Sea-boy, on the mast,
Hears the wave bounding to the blast,
And looks below!
'Tis where the deaf'ning whirlwinds roar;
'Tis when the Sea-boy, on the mast,
Hears the wave bounding to the blast,
And looks below!
'Tis in a cheerless naked room,
Where Mis'ry's victims wait their doom,
Where a fond mother famish'd dies,
While forth a frantic father flies,
Man's desp'rate foe!
Where Mis'ry's victims wait their doom,
Where a fond mother famish'd dies,
While forth a frantic father flies,
Man's desp'rate foe!
Is it where gamesters thronging round,
Their shining heaps of wealth display?
Where fashion's giddy tribes are found,
Sporting their senseless hours away?
Ah! No!
Their shining heaps of wealth display?
Where fashion's giddy tribes are found,
Sporting their senseless hours away?
Ah! No!
356
'Tis in the silent spot obscure,
Where, forc'd all sorrows to endure,
Pale Genius learns—oh! lesson sad!
To court the vain, and on the bad
False praise bestow!
Where, forc'd all sorrows to endure,
Pale Genius learns—oh! lesson sad!
To court the vain, and on the bad
False praise bestow!
Where the neglected Hero sighs,
Where Hope, exhausted, silent dies,
Where Virtue starves, by Pride oppress'd,
'Till ev'ry stream that warms the breast
Forbears to flow!
Where Hope, exhausted, silent dies,
Where Virtue starves, by Pride oppress'd,
'Till ev'ry stream that warms the breast
Forbears to flow!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |