The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
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FAIRY RHYMES.
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 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
149
FAIRY RHYMES.
OBERON'S INVITATION TO TITANIA.
Oh! come, my pretty love! and we
Will climb the dewy hill together;
An acorn shall our goblet be,
A rose our couch in sunny weather;
Amidst its fragrant leaves we'll lie,
List'ning the zephyrs passing by!
Will climb the dewy hill together;
An acorn shall our goblet be,
A rose our couch in sunny weather;
Amidst its fragrant leaves we'll lie,
List'ning the zephyrs passing by!
Come, come, my pretty love, and sip
The dew that from each herb is flowing;
And let the insects round thy lip
With envy hover while 'tis glowing!
Beneath a spring-flow'rs bell we'll sing,
While southern gales shall fragrance bring.
The dew that from each herb is flowing;
And let the insects round thy lip
With envy hover while 'tis glowing!
Beneath a spring-flow'rs bell we'll sing,
While southern gales shall fragrance bring.
Then haste, my pretty queen, and dress
Thy snowy breast with pearls of morning;
Thy smiles shall charm, thy voice shall bless,
Thy beauty ev'ry grace adorning!
By dawn-light o'er the daisied ground
We'll sport, while fairies gambol round.
Thy snowy breast with pearls of morning;
Thy smiles shall charm, thy voice shall bless,
Thy beauty ev'ry grace adorning!
By dawn-light o'er the daisied ground
We'll sport, while fairies gambol round.
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Ah! why delay, my pretty love!
The sun is sinking in the ocean,
The clear green waters slowly move,
The weary zephyrs scarce have motion!
Soon, soon the gloomy shades of night
Will want those eyes of starry light.
The sun is sinking in the ocean,
The clear green waters slowly move,
The weary zephyrs scarce have motion!
Soon, soon the gloomy shades of night
Will want those eyes of starry light.
I've made thee, love, a canopy
Of tulips tinted rich—a cluster
Of golden cups is waving nigh,
Bath'd in the moon-beams' dewy lustre!
The softest turf shall be our floor,
With twinkling dew-drops spangled o'er!
Of tulips tinted rich—a cluster
Of golden cups is waving nigh,
Bath'd in the moon-beams' dewy lustre!
The softest turf shall be our floor,
With twinkling dew-drops spangled o'er!
Thy curtains are of insect's wings,
With feather-grass festoon'd and corded;
And, for their tassels, zephyr brings
The thistle's down, in winter hoarded.
Thy pillow is of swan-down fair,
“Which floats upon the summer air.”
With feather-grass festoon'd and corded;
And, for their tassels, zephyr brings
The thistle's down, in winter hoarded.
Thy pillow is of swan-down fair,
“Which floats upon the summer air.”
Now, Oberon, thy love attends,
His heart with doubt and terror swelling;
While low his brow with sorrow bends,
To mark of love the lonely dwelling!
Oh! come! or ere night's shadows fly,
The chilling breeze shall bid me die!
His heart with doubt and terror swelling;
While low his brow with sorrow bends,
To mark of love the lonely dwelling!
Oh! come! or ere night's shadows fly,
The chilling breeze shall bid me die!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |