The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
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TO APATHY. |
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| XVI. |
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| II. |
| III. |
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| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
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| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
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| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
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| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
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| XLI. |
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 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
211
TO APATHY.
Welcome, thou petrifying pow'r!
Come, fix on me thy vacant eye,
Which never on thy frozen breast
(Insensate throne of torpid rest)
Dropp'd the soft tear of sympathy,
In pity's graceful show'r.—
Whose heart ne'er throbb'd with pleasure or with pain,
Melted with fond regret or glow'd with proud disdain.
Come, fix on me thy vacant eye,
Which never on thy frozen breast
(Insensate throne of torpid rest)
Dropp'd the soft tear of sympathy,
In pity's graceful show'r.—
Whose heart ne'er throbb'd with pleasure or with pain,
Melted with fond regret or glow'd with proud disdain.
Dull Maid! to thee my willing vows I pay,
Thou whom nor fortune nor caprice can change;
With thee I'll waste the undelighted day,
With thee, unmindful of all nature, range:
The sun-deck'd mountain or the murm'ring main,
The bleak hill's summit, winter's frozen plain,
Appear alike, O Apathy! to thee:
Then welcome, numbing pow'r! my idol thou shalt be.
Thou whom nor fortune nor caprice can change;
With thee I'll waste the undelighted day,
With thee, unmindful of all nature, range:
The sun-deck'd mountain or the murm'ring main,
The bleak hill's summit, winter's frozen plain,
Appear alike, O Apathy! to thee:
Then welcome, numbing pow'r! my idol thou shalt be.
212
Thy poppy wreath shall bind my brows,
Dead'ning the sense of pain;
And while to thee I pay my vows,
A chilling tide shall steal thro' every vein,
Pervade my heart, and ev'ry care beguile,
While my wan cheek shall bear thy ever vapid smile.
Dead'ning the sense of pain;
And while to thee I pay my vows,
A chilling tide shall steal thro' every vein,
Pervade my heart, and ev'ry care beguile,
While my wan cheek shall bear thy ever vapid smile.
Amidst the vast expanse of scene
Which mem'ry traces, still my mind
Shall rest, O Apathy! serene,
Patient, content, resign'd!
When fancy paints the past repose,
Which taught my weary eyes
On luxury's smooth couch to close,
And bad me with the cheerful morn to rise,
No tear shall steal my soft regret to shew,
No sigh shall swell my breast, for ev'ry woe
Shall find its balm—dear Apathy, in thee!
Thou best and potent cure for human misery!
Which mem'ry traces, still my mind
Shall rest, O Apathy! serene,
Patient, content, resign'd!
When fancy paints the past repose,
Which taught my weary eyes
On luxury's smooth couch to close,
And bad me with the cheerful morn to rise,
No tear shall steal my soft regret to shew,
No sigh shall swell my breast, for ev'ry woe
Shall find its balm—dear Apathy, in thee!
Thou best and potent cure for human misery!
Happy are those who, taught by thee,
Behold with tranquil mind
The changes of their destiny,
The sombre and the rosy hours,
And still with opiate flow'rs
Their icy bosoms bind!
To them, the wreath of friendship torn
Presents no agonizing thorn;
Ingratitude its fangs in vain
Upon my heart may bear,
For, dead to ev'ry touch of pain,
Thine adamantine shield is there!
Sustain'd by thee, the breast of stone
Bounds not with sympathetic grace,
Nor stoops the weedy path to trace,
Where mis'ry's children groan!
Pale sickness lifts the languid eye,
To see thee pass unpitying by,
While poverty's gaunt sons, in silent pride,
Steal to some lonely spot obscure,
And, nobly organized, deride
Those ills which patient virtue cannot cure.
Behold with tranquil mind
The changes of their destiny,
The sombre and the rosy hours,
And still with opiate flow'rs
Their icy bosoms bind!
To them, the wreath of friendship torn
Presents no agonizing thorn;
213
Upon my heart may bear,
For, dead to ev'ry touch of pain,
Thine adamantine shield is there!
Sustain'd by thee, the breast of stone
Bounds not with sympathetic grace,
Nor stoops the weedy path to trace,
Where mis'ry's children groan!
Pale sickness lifts the languid eye,
To see thee pass unpitying by,
While poverty's gaunt sons, in silent pride,
Steal to some lonely spot obscure,
And, nobly organized, deride
Those ills which patient virtue cannot cure.
When love his tyrant pow'r would prove,
Thou, vapid dreamer, still to thee
My darksome pilgrimage shall be,
Thro' forest drear and unfrequented grove;
Heedless, my footsteps still shall go
O'er flow'ry meads or wilds of snow;
The burning beams of noon shall fall
On my scorch'd breast—unheeded all;
The cold moon, gleaming mild and pale,
Shall o'er the woody mountains sail,
Or quiver on the swelling sea,
Unmark'd by me!
For I, by Apathy possess'd,
Shall taste one dream of solitary rest,
One dark unvaried dream—till fate
Shall from this busy wild'ring state
My spell-encircled soul set free—
Ending thy short-liv'd pow'r, congealing Apathy.
Thou, vapid dreamer, still to thee
My darksome pilgrimage shall be,
Thro' forest drear and unfrequented grove;
Heedless, my footsteps still shall go
O'er flow'ry meads or wilds of snow;
The burning beams of noon shall fall
On my scorch'd breast—unheeded all;
The cold moon, gleaming mild and pale,
Shall o'er the woody mountains sail,
Or quiver on the swelling sea,
Unmark'd by me!
214
Shall taste one dream of solitary rest,
One dark unvaried dream—till fate
Shall from this busy wild'ring state
My spell-encircled soul set free—
Ending thy short-liv'd pow'r, congealing Apathy.
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |