The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
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TO PEACE: FROM THE “SHRINE OF BERTHA,”
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 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
206
TO PEACE: FROM THE “SHRINE OF BERTHA,”
A NOVEL, BY MISS ROBINSON.
O Peace! thou nymph of modest mien!
Where, where, dost thou delight to stray?
Dost thou o'er mountains bend thy way,
When ev'ning spreads its shade serene?
Or dost thou fly from scorching light,
To seek the tufted vale?
Or, 'midst the solemn noon of night,
List to the love-lorn minstrel's tale?
Or in the Hermit's solitary cell,
In simple vestment clad, with holy Silence dwell?
Where, where, dost thou delight to stray?
Dost thou o'er mountains bend thy way,
When ev'ning spreads its shade serene?
Or dost thou fly from scorching light,
To seek the tufted vale?
Or, 'midst the solemn noon of night,
List to the love-lorn minstrel's tale?
Or in the Hermit's solitary cell,
In simple vestment clad, with holy Silence dwell?
207
Fair, first-born, placid child of Jove!
An humble suppliant deign to hear;
If, from thy starry-spangled sphere,
Thou stoop'st o'er mortal scenes to rove;
If ever to the lonely shed
Of agony and grief
Thy slow and timid footsteps tread,
To bring the balm of sure relief;
Oh! quickly come, and through each aching vein
Thy sainted balsam pour, to lull my fev'rish brain.
An humble suppliant deign to hear;
If, from thy starry-spangled sphere,
Thou stoop'st o'er mortal scenes to rove;
If ever to the lonely shed
Of agony and grief
Thy slow and timid footsteps tread,
To bring the balm of sure relief;
Oh! quickly come, and through each aching vein
Thy sainted balsam pour, to lull my fev'rish brain.
The vain, the busy world I scorn;
I seek no gaudy scenes of guile,
Where falsehood courts with murd'rous smile,
And pleasure mocks the wretch forlorn:
To unillumin'd caves I'll fly,
Or climb the mountain's crest;
And, hid from ev'ry curious eye,
Steal softly to thy halcyon breast;
Where soothing visions round my form shall move,
And one long tranquil dream my weary senses prove!
I seek no gaudy scenes of guile,
Where falsehood courts with murd'rous smile,
And pleasure mocks the wretch forlorn:
To unillumin'd caves I'll fly,
Or climb the mountain's crest;
And, hid from ev'ry curious eye,
Steal softly to thy halcyon breast;
Where soothing visions round my form shall move,
And one long tranquil dream my weary senses prove!
Already from my throbbing heart
The killing shaft of anguish flies;
Hope sparkles in my grateful eyes,
And reason blunts affliction's dart!
About my waist no myrtle weaves;
No rose adorns my brow;
Nor yet the poppy's numbing leaves;
Nor yet the laurel's pompous bough;
Then, Peace! thy healing olive let me own,
And let me steal thro' life—unenvied and unknown.
The killing shaft of anguish flies;
Hope sparkles in my grateful eyes,
And reason blunts affliction's dart!
208
No rose adorns my brow;
Nor yet the poppy's numbing leaves;
Nor yet the laurel's pompous bough;
Then, Peace! thy healing olive let me own,
And let me steal thro' life—unenvied and unknown.
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |