The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
 | III. |
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STANZAS TO A FRIEND WHO WISHED TO HAVE MY PORTRAIT. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
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STANZAS TO A FRIEND WHO WISHED TO HAVE MY PORTRAIT.
E'en from the early days of youth,
I've bless'd the sacred voice of truth—
And candour is my pride:
I always speak what I believe;
I know not if I can deceive—
Because I never tried.
I've bless'd the sacred voice of truth—
And candour is my pride:
I always speak what I believe;
I know not if I can deceive—
Because I never tried.
I'm often serious, sometimes gay,
Can laugh the fleeting hours away,
Or weep for others woe:
I'm proud! this fault you cannot blame,
Nor does it tinge my cheek with shame:
Your friendship made me so.
Can laugh the fleeting hours away,
Or weep for others woe:
I'm proud! this fault you cannot blame,
Nor does it tinge my cheek with shame:
Your friendship made me so.
I'm odd, eccentric, fond of ease,
Impatient, difficult to please;
Ambition fires my breast:
Yet, not for wealth or titles vain;
Let but the laurel deck my strain,
And dulness take the rest.
Impatient, difficult to please;
Ambition fires my breast:
Yet, not for wealth or titles vain;
Let but the laurel deck my strain,
And dulness take the rest.
304
In temper quick, in friendship nice;
I doat on genius, shrink from vice,
And scorn the flatt'rer's art:
With penetrating skill can see,
Where, mask'd in sweet simplicity,
Lies hid the treach'rous heart.
I doat on genius, shrink from vice,
And scorn the flatt'rer's art:
With penetrating skill can see,
Where, mask'd in sweet simplicity,
Lies hid the treach'rous heart.
If once betray'd, I scarce forgive;
And tho' I pity all that live,
And mourn for ev'ry pain,
Yet never could I court the great,
Or worship fools, whate'er their state;
For falsehood I disdain.
And tho' I pity all that live,
And mourn for ev'ry pain,
Yet never could I court the great,
Or worship fools, whate'er their state;
For falsehood I disdain.
I'm jealous, for I fondly love;
No feeble flame my heart can prove,
Caprice ne'er dimm'd its fires:
I blush to see the human mind,
For nobler, prouder claims design'd,
The slave of low desires.
No feeble flame my heart can prove,
Caprice ne'er dimm'd its fires:
I blush to see the human mind,
For nobler, prouder claims design'd,
The slave of low desires.
Reserv'd in manner, where unknown;
A little obstinate, I own,
And apt to form opinion;
Yet, envy never broke my rest,
Nor could self-int'rest bow my breast
To folly's base dominion.
A little obstinate, I own,
And apt to form opinion;
Yet, envy never broke my rest,
Nor could self-int'rest bow my breast
To folly's base dominion.
305
No gaudy trappings I display,
Nor meanly plain, nor idly gay,
Yet sway'd by fashion's rule;
For singularity, we find,
Betrays to ev'ry reasoning mind,
The pedant or the fool.
Nor meanly plain, nor idly gay,
Yet sway'd by fashion's rule;
For singularity, we find,
Betrays to ev'ry reasoning mind,
The pedant or the fool.
I fly the rich, the sordid crowd,
The little great, the vulgar proud,
The ignorant and base:
To sons of genius homage pay,
And own their sov'reign right to sway—
Lords of the human race.
The little great, the vulgar proud,
The ignorant and base:
To sons of genius homage pay,
And own their sov'reign right to sway—
Lords of the human race.
When coxcombs tell me I'm divine,
I plainly see the weak design,
And mock a tale so common:
Howe'er the flatt'ring strain may flow,
My faults, alas! too plainly show,
I'm but a mortal woman!
I plainly see the weak design,
And mock a tale so common:
Howe'er the flatt'ring strain may flow,
My faults, alas! too plainly show,
I'm but a mortal woman!
Such is my portrait now believe;
My pencil never can deceive,
And know me what I paint.
Taught in affliction's rigid school,
I act from principle, not rule,
No sinner, yet no saint.
My pencil never can deceive,
And know me what I paint.
Taught in affliction's rigid school,
I act from principle, not rule,
No sinner, yet no saint.
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |