The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
LINES
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| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
357
LINES
WRITTEN ON A SICK BED, 1797.
Another night of fev'rish pain
Has slowly pass'd away!
I see the morning light again;
What does it bring? another day
Of Hope—delusive—vain!
Has slowly pass'd away!
I see the morning light again;
What does it bring? another day
Of Hope—delusive—vain!
Another night of busy thought
Has stol'n uncheerly on!
And what has rosy morning brought?
Is anguish with the lone hour gone,
The hour with darkness fraught?
Has stol'n uncheerly on!
And what has rosy morning brought?
Is anguish with the lone hour gone,
The hour with darkness fraught?
I see again the chearful light,
But still my soul's forlorn!
The sun-beam glitters, all is bright,
Soft dews the fragrant fields adorn,
But still to me 'tis night!
But still my soul's forlorn!
The sun-beam glitters, all is bright,
Soft dews the fragrant fields adorn,
But still to me 'tis night!
358
A sullen gloom o'erwhelms my mind,
While slow the hours creep on;
For wheresoe'er I gaze I find
Dark weeds to feast my soul upon,
With Mem'ry's thorns entwin'd.
While slow the hours creep on;
For wheresoe'er I gaze I find
Dark weeds to feast my soul upon,
With Mem'ry's thorns entwin'd.
I see Deceit in sainted guise
Of holy Friendship, smile;
I mark Oppression's eager eyes,
And tremble as the breath of Guile
Assumes Affection's sighs.
Of holy Friendship, smile;
I mark Oppression's eager eyes,
And tremble as the breath of Guile
Assumes Affection's sighs.
Then, bed of sickness! thou to me
No keener pangs canst bring;
I have familiar grown with thee;
And while the scorpion sorrows sting
My soul no joy can see.
No keener pangs canst bring;
I have familiar grown with thee;
And while the scorpion sorrows sting
My soul no joy can see.
Yet, bed of sickness! while my breast
In fev'rish throbs shall rise
My cheek shall smile—and endless rest
Anticipating Hope supplies
Hereafter—with the blest!
In fev'rish throbs shall rise
My cheek shall smile—and endless rest
Anticipating Hope supplies
Hereafter—with the blest!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |