The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
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 | III. |
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LINES FROM ANGELICA. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
133
LINES FROM ANGELICA.
I wake from dreams of proud delight,
Where gorgeous visions blest my sight!
Where fancy rear'd Elysian bow'rs,
Adorn'd with never-fading flow'rs;
While radiant streams of beaming gold
Around the distant mountains roll'd!
And gossamer on light winds flew,
Sweeping the spangled fields of dew;
And weaving with a zephyr's hand
A net-work o'er the glowing land.
Where gorgeous visions blest my sight!
Where fancy rear'd Elysian bow'rs,
Adorn'd with never-fading flow'rs;
While radiant streams of beaming gold
Around the distant mountains roll'd!
And gossamer on light winds flew,
Sweeping the spangled fields of dew;
And weaving with a zephyr's hand
A net-work o'er the glowing land.
The fervent orb, now spreading wide,
Shed all around a silv'ry tide;
From ev'ry stem, from ev'ry flow'r,
Fast fell the soft and brilliant show'r;
Till with his flame-expanding eye
He trac'd the confines of the sky,
While his gold banner, wide unfurl'd,
Stream'd glorious o'er the rolling world!
Shed all around a silv'ry tide;
From ev'ry stem, from ev'ry flow'r,
Fast fell the soft and brilliant show'r;
Till with his flame-expanding eye
He trac'd the confines of the sky,
While his gold banner, wide unfurl'd,
Stream'd glorious o'er the rolling world!
134
O! visions of supreme delight!
Why did ye quit my cheated sight?
Why did I wake to mark the hour
When winter's angry tempests lour?
While on the warring whirlwinds fly
The fleecy fragments of the sky,
The pelting hail, the bleak blast wild,
That chills misfortune's shivering child;
Where hopeless and forlorn she weeps,
Or to the dropping pent-house creeps,
To view with many a rending sigh
The lordly mansion tow'ring nigh!
Where, while the keen blast cuts her breast,
The pamper'd cur sleeps warm at rest;
While for a famish'd parent's woes
The tear of filial virtue flows,
There lux'ry spreads profusion wide,
To glut the iron breast of pride!
Why did ye quit my cheated sight?
Why did I wake to mark the hour
When winter's angry tempests lour?
While on the warring whirlwinds fly
The fleecy fragments of the sky,
The pelting hail, the bleak blast wild,
That chills misfortune's shivering child;
Where hopeless and forlorn she weeps,
Or to the dropping pent-house creeps,
To view with many a rending sigh
The lordly mansion tow'ring nigh!
Where, while the keen blast cuts her breast,
The pamper'd cur sleeps warm at rest;
While for a famish'd parent's woes
The tear of filial virtue flows,
There lux'ry spreads profusion wide,
To glut the iron breast of pride!
Hark! the shrill winds are whistling round!
Thy mantle, winter, wraps the ground;
In torrents fall thy hoarded tears,
Thy thick'ning breath absorbs the spheres;
Thy ebon pinions spread dismay—
And mock the sun's enfeebled ray!
Thy mantle, winter, wraps the ground;
In torrents fall thy hoarded tears,
Thy thick'ning breath absorbs the spheres;
Thy ebon pinions spread dismay—
And mock the sun's enfeebled ray!
Oh! winter! fly, thou sternest child,
That from the mass of chaos wild,
'Mid storms and howling tempests grew,
Thy kindred seasons to subdue!
Rock'd by the hurricane, or cast
Upon the swift wings of the blast;
Thy nurse, the boist'rous north, whose hand
Bestow'd the petrifying wand,
Taught thee, with desolating breath
To form the icy chains of death;
Till with resistless fury proud,
Exulting, pitiless, and loud,
Thou bad'st faint nature own thy hour,
And smot'st her with a giant's pow'r!
That from the mass of chaos wild,
135
Thy kindred seasons to subdue!
Rock'd by the hurricane, or cast
Upon the swift wings of the blast;
Thy nurse, the boist'rous north, whose hand
Bestow'd the petrifying wand,
Taught thee, with desolating breath
To form the icy chains of death;
Till with resistless fury proud,
Exulting, pitiless, and loud,
Thou bad'st faint nature own thy hour,
And smot'st her with a giant's pow'r!
Now gliding on revolving years,
Thou chill'st the ocean, earth, and spheres!
Yet, transient is thy tyrant reign,
Ere nature wakes and smiles again;
Ere spring leads on the rosy hours,
Calls forth her perfumes, tints, and flow'rs;
Bids zephyrus unlock the streams,
And revel in the fost'ring beams,
While round the tow'ring trunk they play,
To renovate the shrivell'd spray!
Then up the darting shafts of light,
The insect myriads bend their flight,
And mingling in a mazy throng,
With rapture hum their busy song,
To greet the proud effulgent ray
That deigns to gild their little day!
Thou chill'st the ocean, earth, and spheres!
Yet, transient is thy tyrant reign,
Ere nature wakes and smiles again;
Ere spring leads on the rosy hours,
Calls forth her perfumes, tints, and flow'rs;
Bids zephyrus unlock the streams,
And revel in the fost'ring beams,
While round the tow'ring trunk they play,
To renovate the shrivell'd spray!
Then up the darting shafts of light,
The insect myriads bend their flight,
And mingling in a mazy throng,
With rapture hum their busy song,
To greet the proud effulgent ray
That deigns to gild their little day!
136
Oh! ye! who nurs'd in mis'ry's breast,
Have long forgot the hour of rest!
Ye who have trac'd with ceaseless tears
The seasons of disastrous years,
Behold the gaudy painted fly,
The offspring of a sunny sky;
And trust that he who gilds its wing
With all the rainbow hues of spring;
Who gives the lark its plumage gay
To skim along the floods of day;
Who bids the busy lab'ring ant
Foresee the freezing hour of want;
Who guides the spider's vital loom
To weave th' unwary insect's doom,
Will teach the sensate reas'ning mind,
To own his pow'r, and bow resign'd!
Have long forgot the hour of rest!
Ye who have trac'd with ceaseless tears
The seasons of disastrous years,
Behold the gaudy painted fly,
The offspring of a sunny sky;
And trust that he who gilds its wing
With all the rainbow hues of spring;
Who gives the lark its plumage gay
To skim along the floods of day;
Who bids the busy lab'ring ant
Foresee the freezing hour of want;
Who guides the spider's vital loom
To weave th' unwary insect's doom,
Will teach the sensate reas'ning mind,
To own his pow'r, and bow resign'd!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |