The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
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ODE TO ELOQUENCE. |
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 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
137
ODE TO ELOQUENCE.
Hail! Goddess of persuasive art!
The magic of whose tuneful tongue
Lulls to soft harmony the wand'ring heart
With fascinating song;
O let me hear thy heav'n-taught strain,
As thro' my quiv'ring pulses steal
The mingling throbs of joy and pain,
Which only sensate minds can feel.
Ah! let me taste the bliss supreme
Which thy warm touch unerring flings
O'er the rapt sense's finest strings,
When Genius, darting from the sky,
Glances across my wond'ring eye
Her animating beam.
The magic of whose tuneful tongue
Lulls to soft harmony the wand'ring heart
With fascinating song;
O let me hear thy heav'n-taught strain,
As thro' my quiv'ring pulses steal
The mingling throbs of joy and pain,
Which only sensate minds can feel.
Ah! let me taste the bliss supreme
Which thy warm touch unerring flings
O'er the rapt sense's finest strings,
When Genius, darting from the sky,
Glances across my wond'ring eye
Her animating beam.
Sweet Eloquence! thy mild control
Awakes to Reason's dawn the Idiot soul;
When mists absorb the mental sight,
'Tis thine to dart creative light;
'Tis thine to chase the filmy clouds away,
And o'er the mind's deep gloom spread a refulgent ray.
Awakes to Reason's dawn the Idiot soul;
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'Tis thine to dart creative light;
'Tis thine to chase the filmy clouds away,
And o'er the mind's deep gloom spread a refulgent ray.
Nor is thy wondrous art confin'd
Within the bounds of mental space,
For thou canst boast exterior grace,
Bright emblem of the fertile mind;
Yes; I have seen thee, with persuasion meek,
Bathe in the lucid tear on Beauty's cheek;
Have mark'd thee in the downcast eye,
When suff'ring Virtue claim'd the pitying sigh.
Within the bounds of mental space,
For thou canst boast exterior grace,
Bright emblem of the fertile mind;
Yes; I have seen thee, with persuasion meek,
Bathe in the lucid tear on Beauty's cheek;
Have mark'd thee in the downcast eye,
When suff'ring Virtue claim'd the pitying sigh.
Oft, by thy thrilling voice subdued,
The meagre fiend Ingratitude
Her treach'rous fang conceals;
Pale Envy hides her forked sting;
And Calumny beneath the wing
Of dark oblivion steals.
The meagre fiend Ingratitude
Her treach'rous fang conceals;
Pale Envy hides her forked sting;
And Calumny beneath the wing
Of dark oblivion steals.
Before thy pure and lambent fire
Shall frozen Apathy expire;
Thy influence, warm and unconfin'd,
Shall rapt'rous transports give,
And in the base and torpid mind
Shall bid the fine Affections live.
Shall frozen Apathy expire;
Thy influence, warm and unconfin'd,
Shall rapt'rous transports give,
And in the base and torpid mind
Shall bid the fine Affections live.
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When Jealousy's malignant dart
Strikes at the fondly-throbbing heart;
When fancied woes on every side assail,
Thy honey'd accents shall prevail;
When burning Passion withers up the brain,
And the fix'd lids the glowing drops sustain,
Touch'd by thy voice, the melting eye
Shall pour the balm of yielding Sympathy.
Strikes at the fondly-throbbing heart;
When fancied woes on every side assail,
Thy honey'd accents shall prevail;
When burning Passion withers up the brain,
And the fix'd lids the glowing drops sustain,
Touch'd by thy voice, the melting eye
Shall pour the balm of yielding Sympathy.
'Tis thine with lenient Song to move
The dumb despair of hopeless Love;
Or when the animated soul
On Fancy's wing shall soar,
And, scorning Reason's soft control,
Untrodden paths explore,
Till, by distracting conflicts tost,
The intellectual source is lost;
E'en then, the witching music of thy tongue,
Stealing thro' Mis'ry's darkest gloom,
Weaves the fine threads of Fancy's loom,
Till every slacken'd nerve, new strung,
Bids renovated Nature shine,
Amidst thy fost'ring beams, oh! Eloquence divine!
The dumb despair of hopeless Love;
Or when the animated soul
On Fancy's wing shall soar,
And, scorning Reason's soft control,
Untrodden paths explore,
Till, by distracting conflicts tost,
The intellectual source is lost;
E'en then, the witching music of thy tongue,
Stealing thro' Mis'ry's darkest gloom,
Weaves the fine threads of Fancy's loom,
Till every slacken'd nerve, new strung,
Bids renovated Nature shine,
Amidst thy fost'ring beams, oh! Eloquence divine!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |