The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
|
|
|
ODE TO MY BELOVED DAUGHTER,
|
|
| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| II. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| III. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| IV. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| V. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
193
ODE TO MY BELOVED DAUGHTER,
On her Birth-Day, October 18, 1794.
'Tis not an April-day,
Nor rosy Summer's burning hour,
Nor Ev'ning's sinking ray,
That gilds rich Autumn's yellow bow'r,
Alone, that fades away!
Life is a variegated, tedious span,
A sad and toilsome road, the weary trav'ller, Man!
Nor rosy Summer's burning hour,
Nor Ev'ning's sinking ray,
That gilds rich Autumn's yellow bow'r,
Alone, that fades away!
Life is a variegated, tedious span,
A sad and toilsome road, the weary trav'ller, Man!
'Tis not the base alone
That wander through a desert drear,
Where Sorrow's plaintive tone
Calls Echo from her cell to hear
The soul-subduing moan;
In haunts where Virtue lives retir'd we see
The agonizing wounds of hopeless Misery!
That wander through a desert drear,
Where Sorrow's plaintive tone
Calls Echo from her cell to hear
The soul-subduing moan;
194
The agonizing wounds of hopeless Misery!
'Tis not in titles vain,
Or yet in costly trappings rare,
Or Courts where Monarchs reign,
Or Sceptre, Crown, or regal Chair,
To quell the throb of pain;
The balmy hour of rest alone, we find,
Springs from that sacred source, Integrity of Mind!
Or yet in costly trappings rare,
Or Courts where Monarchs reign,
Or Sceptre, Crown, or regal Chair,
To quell the throb of pain;
The balmy hour of rest alone, we find,
Springs from that sacred source, Integrity of Mind!
Pow'r cannot give us health,
Or lengthen out our breathing day!
Nor all the stores of wealth
The sting of conscience chase away!
Time seals each charm by stealth,
And, spite of all that Wisdom can devise,
Still to the vale of Death our dreary pathway lies!
Or lengthen out our breathing day!
Nor all the stores of wealth
The sting of conscience chase away!
Time seals each charm by stealth,
And, spite of all that Wisdom can devise,
Still to the vale of Death our dreary pathway lies!
Mark how the Seasons go!
Spring passes by in liveliest green,
Then Summer's trappings glow,
Then Autumn's tawny vest is seen,
Then Winter's locks of snow!
With true Philosophy each change explore,
Read Nature's page divine! and mock the Pedant's lore.
Spring passes by in liveliest green,
Then Summer's trappings glow,
Then Autumn's tawny vest is seen,
Then Winter's locks of snow!
With true Philosophy each change explore,
Read Nature's page divine! and mock the Pedant's lore.
195
Life's race prepar'd to run,
We wake to Youth's exulting glee;
Alas! how soon 'tis done!
We fall, like blossoms from the tree,
Yet ripe, by Reason's sun;
The cherish'd fruit in Winter's gloom shall be
An earnest bright and fair—of Immortality!
We wake to Youth's exulting glee;
Alas! how soon 'tis done!
We fall, like blossoms from the tree,
Yet ripe, by Reason's sun;
The cherish'd fruit in Winter's gloom shall be
An earnest bright and fair—of Immortality!
Sweet comfort of my days!
While yet in Youth's ecstatic prime,
Illum'd by Virtue's rays,
Thy hand shall snatch from passing Time
A wreath that ne'er decays!
That when cold age shall shrink from worldly cares,
A Crown of conscious Peace may deck thy silver hairs!
While yet in Youth's ecstatic prime,
Illum'd by Virtue's rays,
Thy hand shall snatch from passing Time
A wreath that ne'er decays!
That when cold age shall shrink from worldly cares,
A Crown of conscious Peace may deck thy silver hairs!
We are but busy Ants,
We toil through Summer's vivid glow
To hoard for Winter's wants;
Our brightest prospects fraught with woe,
And thorny all our haunts!
Then let it be the Child of Wisdom's plan,
To make his little hour as cheerful as he can!
We toil through Summer's vivid glow
To hoard for Winter's wants;
Our brightest prospects fraught with woe,
And thorny all our haunts!
Then let it be the Child of Wisdom's plan,
To make his little hour as cheerful as he can!
196
The Being we adore
Bids all the face of Nature smile!
The wisest can no more
Than view it, and revere the while!
Then let us not explore
Things hidden in the mysteries of Fate;
Man should rely on Heav'n, nor murmur at his state!
Bids all the face of Nature smile!
The wisest can no more
Than view it, and revere the while!
Then let us not explore
Things hidden in the mysteries of Fate;
Man should rely on Heav'n, nor murmur at his state!
Thou art more dear to me
Than sight, or sense, or vital air!
For ev'ry day I see
Presents thee with a mind more fair!
Rich pearl, in life's rude Sea!
Oh! may thy mental graces still impart
The balm that soothes to rest a Mother's trembling heart!
Than sight, or sense, or vital air!
For ev'ry day I see
Presents thee with a mind more fair!
Rich pearl, in life's rude Sea!
Oh! may thy mental graces still impart
The balm that soothes to rest a Mother's trembling heart!
Still may revolving years
Expand the virtues of thy mind!
And may Affliction's tears
Thy peaceful pillow never find;
Nor fruitless hopes—nor fears:
May no keen pangs thy halcyon bow'r invade,
But ev'ry thought be bliss, till thy last hour shall fade!
Expand the virtues of thy mind!
And may Affliction's tears
Thy peaceful pillow never find;
Nor fruitless hopes—nor fears:
May no keen pangs thy halcyon bow'r invade,
But ev'ry thought be bliss, till thy last hour shall fade!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |