 | Poems by Mrs. Opie |  |
167
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND ON NEW YEAR'S DAY....1802.
Health to my friend!....Now o'er the frozen world
The gorgeous flag of revelry's unfurled,
Mayst thou with countless multitudes rejoice,
And join with heartfelt glee the choral voice!
The gorgeous flag of revelry's unfurled,
Mayst thou with countless multitudes rejoice,
And join with heartfelt glee the choral voice!
Dear are the festive scenes which Christmas brings,
To smooth the plumes of winter's ruffled wings,
From his stern brow to smile the frowns away,
And the pale terrors of his form allay.
But now another festival is near,
And hark! the bells announce the new-born year.
The jocund sound awakes to thoughts of glee;
But, ah! it wakes far different thoughts in me.
To me, alas! this joy-devoted day
Sad self-reproaches in deep gloom array;
And, as last night I marked with pensive eye
The pale departing year for ever fly,
Methought, O sight my conscience to appall,
Dread ‘as the dread hand-writing on the wall!’
I, on the horizon traced by memory's powers,
Saw the long record of my wasted hours,....
Hours unproductive as the sun's bright ray
While on the snows around its splendours play.
What, though I saw, by love of virtue fired,
Eager to be whate'er my soul admired,
I the departed year with vows begun
Each fair temptation cautiously to shun;
I also saw my resolutions fly,
Swift as bright falling stars from summer's sky,
And hours to duties and amendment vowed
On Dissipation and her slaves bestowed:....
And, as the stream that rolls in spreading pride
Receives strange contrasts on its silver tide,
While on its surface still by turns succeed
The swan's pure feather and the putrid weed,....
So, as companions, I've alike received
The sage who charmed me and the fool who grieved,
In idle converse spent each precious hour,
Squandering the time that can return no more.
To smooth the plumes of winter's ruffled wings,
From his stern brow to smile the frowns away,
And the pale terrors of his form allay.
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And hark! the bells announce the new-born year.
The jocund sound awakes to thoughts of glee;
But, ah! it wakes far different thoughts in me.
To me, alas! this joy-devoted day
Sad self-reproaches in deep gloom array;
And, as last night I marked with pensive eye
The pale departing year for ever fly,
Methought, O sight my conscience to appall,
Dread ‘as the dread hand-writing on the wall!’
I, on the horizon traced by memory's powers,
Saw the long record of my wasted hours,....
Hours unproductive as the sun's bright ray
While on the snows around its splendours play.
169
Eager to be whate'er my soul admired,
I the departed year with vows begun
Each fair temptation cautiously to shun;
I also saw my resolutions fly,
Swift as bright falling stars from summer's sky,
And hours to duties and amendment vowed
On Dissipation and her slaves bestowed:....
And, as the stream that rolls in spreading pride
Receives strange contrasts on its silver tide,
While on its surface still by turns succeed
The swan's pure feather and the putrid weed,....
So, as companions, I've alike received
The sage who charmed me and the fool who grieved,
170
Squandering the time that can return no more.
But are these thoughts confined to me alone?
To only me is conscious error known?
Are others' hearts from those dread whispers free
That dash this moment joy's full cup from me?
Ah! no;....I read in many a tearful eye
Within the bosom self-upbraidings lie,
While late self-knowledge, judging from the past,
Fears the next year will parallel the last.
To only me is conscious error known?
Are others' hearts from those dread whispers free
That dash this moment joy's full cup from me?
Ah! no;....I read in many a tearful eye
Within the bosom self-upbraidings lie,
While late self-knowledge, judging from the past,
Fears the next year will parallel the last.
But, though its hours had been with virtues stored,
Marked by each noble action we adored,
Still fond regret should claim this jocund day,
And heartfelt sorrow check the joyous lay:
For, oh! how many of that festive throng,
First in the dance, the pastime, and the song,
Who, with bright eyes unconscious of a tear,
Welcomed with us the late departed year,
Now, worn with sickness, press a restless bed,
Or droop in poverty the languid head,
Or, while affection vainly strove to save,
Have, warm in youth, been hurried to the grave!
Then, should this time to joy alone invite,
The feast by day, the song, the dance by night?
Home, thoughtless revellers! and, from sight removed,
In useful sadness mourn the worth ye loved;
Or give, in tribute to the new-born year,
Regret's deep sigh, and self-abasement's tear.
Marked by each noble action we adored,
171
And heartfelt sorrow check the joyous lay:
For, oh! how many of that festive throng,
First in the dance, the pastime, and the song,
Who, with bright eyes unconscious of a tear,
Welcomed with us the late departed year,
Now, worn with sickness, press a restless bed,
Or droop in poverty the languid head,
Or, while affection vainly strove to save,
Have, warm in youth, been hurried to the grave!
Then, should this time to joy alone invite,
The feast by day, the song, the dance by night?
Home, thoughtless revellers! and, from sight removed,
In useful sadness mourn the worth ye loved;
172
Regret's deep sigh, and self-abasement's tear.
But 'tis not secret self-reproach alone
That bids my heart the season's joys disown;....
Ah! no:....whene'er I see this day return,
My saddened fancy views a mother's urn:
Remembrance whispers, when the new-born year
In time long past, by numbers hailed, drew near,
To me it gave, alas! misfortune birth,....
That hour my mother closed her eyes on earth.
Moment to me with every danger fraught,
Though on those dangers then I little thought;
Such was my youth, the blow was big with fate,
Yet such my youth, I could not feel its weight:
But, the first conflict o'er, again I smiled;
Too soon life's opening joys my grief beguiled;
Too soon, on pleasure's ocean launched, I found
The dear maternal image sunk and drowned.
That bids my heart the season's joys disown;....
Ah! no:....whene'er I see this day return,
My saddened fancy views a mother's urn:
Remembrance whispers, when the new-born year
In time long past, by numbers hailed, drew near,
To me it gave, alas! misfortune birth,....
That hour my mother closed her eyes on earth.
Moment to me with every danger fraught,
Though on those dangers then I little thought;
Such was my youth, the blow was big with fate,
Yet such my youth, I could not feel its weight:
173
Too soon life's opening joys my grief beguiled;
Too soon, on pleasure's ocean launched, I found
The dear maternal image sunk and drowned.
But, now no more I trust that dangerous sea,
(Restored, Reflection! to my heart and thee,)
Again that sacred image meets my view;
And while I memory's mournful maze pursue,
As, in that magic scene where German skill
Bids phantom forms the awful darkness fill,
The illumined shapes when furthest from the sight
Beam on the eye with most refulgent light,....
So, long-lost parent, as more distant grows
The hour that wrapped thee in death's calm repose,
Stronger thy semblance on my mind I trace,
Clearer I view thy sickness-faded face,
Oftener in sleep, with seeming being bright,
Thy honoured form, my mother, glads my sight:
Nor soon, when slumber flies at rising day,
Fades the regretted visitant away;....
No,....grateful memory, wakened by the dream,
Makes thee with eager tenderness her theme:....
Thine anxious care for others' sufferings shown;
The patient sweetness which endured its own;
The temper still victorious over pain;
The active kindness never sought in vain;
The wise remarks of native genius born;
The kind excuses, or the well-meant scorn;
The converse e'en midst ceaseless anguish gay;
The industrious skill which cheered the lonely day,
Which e'en in sickness every hour improved,
Still toilful found for those it fondly loved;....
All these, and more, to my remembrance throng,
And, sadly sweet, the thought of thee prolong.
(Restored, Reflection! to my heart and thee,)
Again that sacred image meets my view;
And while I memory's mournful maze pursue,
As, in that magic scene where German skill
Bids phantom forms the awful darkness fill,
The illumined shapes when furthest from the sight
Beam on the eye with most refulgent light,....
So, long-lost parent, as more distant grows
The hour that wrapped thee in death's calm repose,
174
Clearer I view thy sickness-faded face,
Oftener in sleep, with seeming being bright,
Thy honoured form, my mother, glads my sight:
Nor soon, when slumber flies at rising day,
Fades the regretted visitant away;....
No,....grateful memory, wakened by the dream,
Makes thee with eager tenderness her theme:....
Thine anxious care for others' sufferings shown;
The patient sweetness which endured its own;
The temper still victorious over pain;
The active kindness never sought in vain;
The wise remarks of native genius born;
The kind excuses, or the well-meant scorn;
175
The industrious skill which cheered the lonely day,
Which e'en in sickness every hour improved,
Still toilful found for those it fondly loved;....
All these, and more, to my remembrance throng,
And, sadly sweet, the thought of thee prolong.
But, lost instructor, monitor most dear,
Nor too indulgent found, nor too severe,
Conscience, still fatal to my mind's repose,
Whispers, ere I the cells of memory close,
Time was, when gaily hurrying from thy sight
From home I flew abroad to seek delight;
When e'en thy mild restraints impatience moved,
And more thy lessons tired me, than improved;
When busy triflers I rejoiced to see,
And for their converse left my tasks and thee....
But now, could aught thy valued life restore,
Oh! what could lure me from thy presence more?
Then, by thy couch I loved not to abide,....
To tend thee now would be my joy, my pride:
Then, I thy well-meant frown abhorred to see,....
Now, 't were more dear than others' smiles to me;
And, could those eyes again the light behold,
How blest were I, my awe by love controlled,
To paint each scene I've trod since last we met,
Each source of triumph, or of deep regret;
Tell thee what various sorrows I have known,
Now others' wrongs deploring, now my own;
Tell thee, that, tost upon the world's wide sea,
Too soon, alas! I learnt to sigh for thee;
But tell thee also, urged by grateful pride,
How well the parent left thy loss supplied!
Then, gladly owning thy maternal power,
I'd court the censures which I feared before,
While, all my heart to thine inspection shown,
I bade thee form my conduct by thine own.
But never, never can that joy be mine....
No more these tearful eyes can fix on thine;
Nor let me form, upbraiding Heaven's decree,
A wish if granted, only kind to me
Whether thou sleep'st in peace, awaiting doom,
Or to new life art summoned from the tomb,
To thee, my mother, good is surely given,....
Thine rest from pain, or thine the bliss of heaven.
Nor too indulgent found, nor too severe,
Conscience, still fatal to my mind's repose,
Whispers, ere I the cells of memory close,
Time was, when gaily hurrying from thy sight
From home I flew abroad to seek delight;
When e'en thy mild restraints impatience moved,
And more thy lessons tired me, than improved;
176
And for their converse left my tasks and thee....
But now, could aught thy valued life restore,
Oh! what could lure me from thy presence more?
Then, by thy couch I loved not to abide,....
To tend thee now would be my joy, my pride:
Then, I thy well-meant frown abhorred to see,....
Now, 't were more dear than others' smiles to me;
And, could those eyes again the light behold,
How blest were I, my awe by love controlled,
To paint each scene I've trod since last we met,
Each source of triumph, or of deep regret;
Tell thee what various sorrows I have known,
Now others' wrongs deploring, now my own;
177
Too soon, alas! I learnt to sigh for thee;
But tell thee also, urged by grateful pride,
How well the parent left thy loss supplied!
Then, gladly owning thy maternal power,
I'd court the censures which I feared before,
While, all my heart to thine inspection shown,
I bade thee form my conduct by thine own.
But never, never can that joy be mine....
No more these tearful eyes can fix on thine;
Nor let me form, upbraiding Heaven's decree,
A wish if granted, only kind to me
Whether thou sleep'st in peace, awaiting doom,
Or to new life art summoned from the tomb,
178
Thine rest from pain, or thine the bliss of heaven.
Here let me close the tributary strain,
And check the tender sigh that heaves in vain;
Here o'er departed time my requiem end,
Nor longer wound the patience of my friend.
But though by endless energy secured,
And by the world's temptations unallured,
Thy vigorous mind rejects each vain pursuit,
Ere fancy's flowers it seeks, or learning's fruit,
As water ne'er the forms of frostwork weaves
Till each gross particle the crystal leaves,....
Still, let the errors of my weaker mind
From thy superior strength indulgence find;
For O remember, they true greatness show,
Who pity frailties which they cannot know!
And check the tender sigh that heaves in vain;
Here o'er departed time my requiem end,
Nor longer wound the patience of my friend.
But though by endless energy secured,
And by the world's temptations unallured,
Thy vigorous mind rejects each vain pursuit,
Ere fancy's flowers it seeks, or learning's fruit,
As water ne'er the forms of frostwork weaves
Till each gross particle the crystal leaves,....
179
From thy superior strength indulgence find;
For O remember, they true greatness show,
Who pity frailties which they cannot know!
| Poems by Mrs. Opie | |