The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
A WISH. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
363
A WISH.
Heav'n knows I never would repine,
Though Fortune's fiercest frowns were mine,
If Fate would grant, that o'er my tomb
One little laurel branch might bloom,
And Mem'ry sometimes wander near
To bid it live—and drop a tear!
Though Fortune's fiercest frowns were mine,
If Fate would grant, that o'er my tomb
One little laurel branch might bloom,
And Mem'ry sometimes wander near
To bid it live—and drop a tear!
I never would, for all the show
That tinsel splendour can bestow,
Or waste a thought, or heave a sigh,
For well I know 'tis pageantry!
Soon fading to the grave, 'tis o'er—
A pleasing phantom, seen no more!
That tinsel splendour can bestow,
Or waste a thought, or heave a sigh,
For well I know 'tis pageantry!
Soon fading to the grave, 'tis o'er—
A pleasing phantom, seen no more!
I ask not worldly pow'r, to rule
The drooping child of mis'ry's school:
To tyrannize o'er him whom Fate
Has destin'd to a lowly state,
To me would prove a source of woe
More keen than such a wretch could know.
The drooping child of mis'ry's school:
To tyrannize o'er him whom Fate
Has destin'd to a lowly state,
To me would prove a source of woe
More keen than such a wretch could know.
364
Oh! did the little great endure
The pangs they seldom stoop to cure!
Could pamper'd luxury then find
The charm to sooth the wounded mind!
The loftiest, proudest, would confess
The sweetest pow'r—the power to bless.
The pangs they seldom stoop to cure!
Could pamper'd luxury then find
The charm to sooth the wounded mind!
The loftiest, proudest, would confess
The sweetest pow'r—the power to bless.
Give me the sensate mind, that knows
The vast extent of human woes;
And then, for independence, grant
The means to chear the child of want:
Though small the pittance, mine should be
The boundless joys of Sympathy!
The vast extent of human woes;
And then, for independence, grant
The means to chear the child of want:
Though small the pittance, mine should be
The boundless joys of Sympathy!
But though ungentle Fortune flies,
And envious Fate her smile denies,
My heart will never cease to feel
The wounds it vainly hopes to heal:
Then Fate, to prove thy rage is o'er,
Ah! let me die—and feel no more!
And envious Fate her smile denies,
My heart will never cease to feel
The wounds it vainly hopes to heal:
Then Fate, to prove thy rage is o'er,
Ah! let me die—and feel no more!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |