The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
REFLECTIONS. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
376
REFLECTIONS.
“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time.”
Shakspere's Macbeth.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time.”
Shakspere's Macbeth.
Ah! who has pow'r to say,
To-morrow's Sun shall warmer glow,
And o'er this gloomy vale of woe
Diffuse a brighter ray?
To-morrow's Sun shall warmer glow,
And o'er this gloomy vale of woe
Diffuse a brighter ray?
Ah! who is ever sure,
Though all that can the soul delight
This hour enchants the wond'ring sight,
These raptures will endure?
Though all that can the soul delight
This hour enchants the wond'ring sight,
These raptures will endure?
Is there in Life's dull toil,
One certain moment of repose,
One ray to dissipate our woes,
And bid Reflection smile?
One certain moment of repose,
One ray to dissipate our woes,
And bid Reflection smile?
377
What is the mind of man?
A chaos where the passions blend,
Unconscious where the mass will end,
Or when it first began!
A chaos where the passions blend,
Unconscious where the mass will end,
Or when it first began!
In childhood's thoughtless hours
We frolic through the sportive day;
Each path enchanting, sunny, gay,
All deck'd with gaudy flow'rs!
We frolic through the sportive day;
Each path enchanting, sunny, gay,
All deck'd with gaudy flow'rs!
In Life's maturer prime
We wander still in search of Peace;
And, as our weary toils encrease,
Fade in the glooms of Time.
We wander still in search of Peace;
And, as our weary toils encrease,
Fade in the glooms of Time.
From scene to scene we stray,
Still courting Pleasure's fickle smile,
While she, delighting to beguile,
Still farther glides away.
Still courting Pleasure's fickle smile,
While she, delighting to beguile,
Still farther glides away.
We seek Hope's gentle aid,
We think the lovely Phantom pours
Her balmy incense on those flow'rs,
Which blossom but to fade!
We think the lovely Phantom pours
Her balmy incense on those flow'rs,
Which blossom but to fade!
378
We court Love's thrilling dart,
And when we think our joys supreme,
We find its raptures but a dream—
Its boon, a wounded heart!
And when we think our joys supreme,
We find its raptures but a dream—
Its boon, a wounded heart!
We pant for glitt'ring Fame,
And when pale Envy blots the page
That might have charm'd a future age,
We find 'tis but a name.
And when pale Envy blots the page
That might have charm'd a future age,
We find 'tis but a name.
We toil for paltry ore,
And when we gain the golden prize,
And Death appears!—with aching eyes
We view the useless store.
And when we gain the golden prize,
And Death appears!—with aching eyes
We view the useless store.
We bask in Friendship's beam,
But when malignant cares assail,
And Fortune's fickle favours fail,
We find 'tis but a dream!
But when malignant cares assail,
And Fortune's fickle favours fail,
We find 'tis but a dream!
We pine for idle joy;
Intemp'rance leads to sure decay;
The brightest prospects fade away,
The sweetest—soonest cloy!
Intemp'rance leads to sure decay;
The brightest prospects fade away,
The sweetest—soonest cloy!
379
How frail is Beauty's bloom!
The dimpled cheek—the sparkling eye,
Scarce seen, before their wonders fly
To decorate a tomb!
The dimpled cheek—the sparkling eye,
Scarce seen, before their wonders fly
To decorate a tomb!
Then, since this fleeting breath
Is but the zephyr of a day,
Let conscience make each minute gay,
And brave the shafts of Death!
Is but the zephyr of a day,
Let conscience make each minute gay,
And brave the shafts of Death!
And let the gen'rous mind
With Pity view the erring throng,
Applaud the right, forgive the wrong,
And feel for all mankind.
With Pity view the erring throng,
Applaud the right, forgive the wrong,
And feel for all mankind.
For who, alas, shall say,
“To-morrow's sun shall warmer glow,
And o'er this gloomy vale of woe
Diffuse a brighter ray.”
“To-morrow's sun shall warmer glow,
And o'er this gloomy vale of woe
Diffuse a brighter ray.”
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |