The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
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| II. |
 | III. |
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STANZAS.
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 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
286
STANZAS.
[Teach me, love, since thy torments no precepts can cure]
Teach me, love, since thy torments no precepts can cure,
Since reflection and reason deny me relief;
Oh! teach me thy scorn and thy wrongs to endure,
While the balm of resentment shall solace my grief.
Since reflection and reason deny me relief;
Oh! teach me thy scorn and thy wrongs to endure,
While the balm of resentment shall solace my grief.
Let my sighs never heave, let my tears never flow,
Let the smile of contempt the stern victor defy;
For the tear has a charm which no art can bestow,
And the language of love is the soul-breathing sigh.
Let the smile of contempt the stern victor defy;
For the tear has a charm which no art can bestow,
And the language of love is the soul-breathing sigh.
Let me shun the proud despot who causes my care,
Lest the torture I suffer should feed his disdain;
For my tyrant delights in the pang of despair,
And the sound which he loves, is the deep groan of pain.
Lest the torture I suffer should feed his disdain;
For my tyrant delights in the pang of despair,
And the sound which he loves, is the deep groan of pain.
I will traverse the desert, climb mountains untrod,
Where reflection shall sadden with legions of woes;
I will cool my scorch'd brain on the dew-moisten'd sod,
While around my torn bosom the loud tempest blows.
Where reflection shall sadden with legions of woes;
I will cool my scorch'd brain on the dew-moisten'd sod,
While around my torn bosom the loud tempest blows.
287
Yet the mild breath of morning shall bid the storm fly,
And the sun's glowing wreath shall encircle the steep;
But my bosom shall never forget the deep sigh,
Nor my eyes lose their vision that prompts them to weep.
And the sun's glowing wreath shall encircle the steep;
But my bosom shall never forget the deep sigh,
Nor my eyes lose their vision that prompts them to weep.
Then, oh! where shall I wander in search of repose?
Where explore that oblivion that calms the wrung breast,—
Since the lover finds sorrow wherever he goes,
And the world has for passion no pillow of rest?
Where explore that oblivion that calms the wrung breast,—
Since the lover finds sorrow wherever he goes,
And the world has for passion no pillow of rest?
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |