Mary Darby Robinson

SWEET PICTURE of Life’s chequer’d hour! Ah, wherefore droop thy blushing head? Tell me, oh tell me, hap’less flow’r, Is it because thy charms are fled? Come, gentle ROSE, and learn from me A

BLEST be thy song, sweet NIGHTINGALE, Lorn minstrel of the lonely vale! Where oft I’ve heard thy dulcet strain In mournful melody complain; When in the POPLAR’S trembling shade, At Evening’s purple hour I’ve

WHEN from the craggy mountain’s pathless steep, Whose flinty brow hangs o’er the raging sea, My wand’ring eye beholds the foamy deep, I mark the restless surge­and think of THEE. The curling waves, the

A farmer’s wife, both young and gay, And fresh as op’ning buds of May; Had taken to herself, a Spouse, And plighted many solemn vows, That she a faithful mate would prove, In meekness,

When, in the gloomy mansion of the dead, This with’ring heart, this faded form shall sleep; When these fond eyes, at length shall cease to weep, And earth’s cold lap receive this fev’rish head;

EXULTING BEAUTY,­phantom of an hour, Whose magic spells enchain the heart, Ah! what avails thy fascinating pow’r, Thy thrilling smile, thy witching art? Thy lip, where balmy nectar glows; Thy cheek, where round the

O FLY thee from the shades of night, Where the loud tempests yelling rise; Where horrror wings her sullen flight Beneath the bleak and lurid skies. As the pale light’ning swiftly gleams O’er the

‘Twas on a Mountain, near the Western Main An ALIEN dwelt. A solitary Hut Built on a jutting crag, o’erhung with weeds, Mark’d the poor Exile’s home. Full ten long years The melancholy wretch

Crops like hedgehogs, high-crown’d hats, Whispers like Jew MOSES ; Padded collars, thick cravats, And cheeks as red as roses. Faces painted pink and brown ; Waistcoats strip’d and gaudy ; Sleeves thrice doubled

Now, o’er the tessellated pavement strew Fresh saffron, steep’d in essence of the rose, While down yon agate column gently flows A glitt’ring streamlet of ambrosial dew! My Phaon smiles! the rich carnation’s hue,

THOU art no more my bosom’s FRIEND; Here must the sweet delusion end, That charm’d my senses many a year, Thro’ smiling summers, winters drear.­ O, FRIENDSHIP! am I doom’d to find Thou art

He that’s ungrateful, has no guilt but one; All other crimes may pass for virtues in him. – YOUNG. I COULD have borne affliction’s sharpest thorn; The sting of malice­poverty’s deep wound; The sneers

Pavement slipp’ry, people sneezing, Lords in ermine, beggars freezing ; Titled gluttons dainties carving, Genius in a garret starving. Lofty mansions, warm and spacious ; Courtiers clinging and voracious ; Misers scarce the wretched

It was in the days of a gay British King (In the old fashion’d custom of merry-making) The Palace of Woodstock with revels did ring, While they sang and carous’d one and all: For

[Inscribed to Lady Duncannon.] SWEET blushing Nymph, who loves to dwell In the dark forest’s silent gloom; Who smiles within the Hermit’s cell, And sighs upon the rustic’s tomb; Who, pitying, sees the busy

O’ER fallow plains and fertile meads, AURORA lifts the torch of day; The shad’wy brow of Night recedes, Cold dew-drops fall from every spray; Now o’er the thistle’s rugged head, Thin veils of filmy

ENLIGHTEN’D Patron of the sacred Lyre? Whose ever-varying, ever-witching song Revibrates on the heart With magic thrilling touch, Till ev’ry nerve with quiv’ring throb divine, In madd’ning tumults, owns thy wondrous pow’r; For well

Oh! can’st thou bear to see this faded frame, Deform’d and mangled by the rocky deep? Wilt thou remember, and forbear to weep, My fatal fondness, and my peerless fame? Soon o’er this heart,

Wild is the foaming Sea! The surges roar! And nimbly dart the livid lightnings round! On the rent rock the angry waves rebound; Ah me! the less’ning bark is seen no more! Along the

O TIME, forgive the mournful song That on thy pinions stole along, When the rude hand of pain severe Chas’d down my cheek the burning tear; When sorrow chill’d each warm desire That kindles

Oh! ye bright Stars! that on the Ebon fields Of Heav’n’s empire, trembling seems to stand; ‘Till rosy morn unlocks her portal bland, Where the proud Sun his fiery banner wields! To flames, less

Swift, o’er the wild and dreary waste A NUT-BROWN GIRL was seen to haste; Wide waving was her unbound hair, And sun-scorch’d was her bosom bare; For Summer’s noon had shed its beams While

O’er the tall cliff that bounds the billowy main Shad’wing the surge that sweeps the lonely strand, While the thin vapours break along the sand, Day’s harbinger unfolds the liquid plain. The rude Sea

UNFADING branch of verdant hue, In modest sweetness drest, Shake off thy pearly tears of dew, And decorate my breast. Dear emblem of the constant mind, Truth’s consecrated tree, Still shall thy trembling blossoms

Why do I live to loath the cheerful day, To shun the smiles of Fame, and mark the hours On tardy pinions move, while ceaseless show’rs Down my wan cheek in lucid currents stray?

I. Where freezing wastes of dazzl’ing Snow O’er LEMAN’S Lake rose, tow’ring; The BARON GOLFRE’S Castle strong Was seen, the silv’ry peaks among, With ramparts, darkly low’ring! Tall Battlements of flint, uprose, Long shadowing

“Fate snatch’d him early to the pitying sky.” – POPE. IF WORTH, too early to the grave consign’d, Can claim the pitying tear, or touch the mind? If manly sentiments unstain’d by art, Could

Inscribed to Colonel Banastre Tarleton] TRANSCENDENT VALOUR! ­godlike Pow’r! Lord of the dauntless breast, and stedfast mien! Who, rob’d in majesty sublime, Sat in thy eagle-wafted car, And led the hardy sons of war,

“WHEN will my troubled soul have rest?” The beauteous LEWIN cried; As thro’ the murky shade of night With frantic step she hied. “When shall those eyes my GYNNETH’S face, My GYNNETH’S form survey?

Come, bright-eyed maid, Pure offspring of the tranquil mind, Haste, my fev’rish temples bind With olive wreaths of em’rald hue Steep’d in morn’s ethereal dew, Where in mild HELVETIA’s shade, Blushing summer round her

AH! think no more that Life’s delusive joys, Can charm my thoughts from FRIENDSHIP’S dearer claim; Or wound a heart, that scarce a wish employs, For age to censure, or discretion blame. Tir’d of

SWEET BIRD OF SORROW! ­why complain In such soft melody of Song, That ECHO, am’rous of thy Strain, The ling’ring cadence doth prolong? Ah! tell me, tell me, why, Thy dulcet Notes ascend the

WHEN AURORA’S soft blushes o’erspread the blue hill, And the mist dies away at the glances of morn; When the birds join the music that floats on the rill, And the beauties of spring

To AEtna’s scorching sands my Phaon flies! False Youth! can other charms attractive prove? Say, can Sicilian loves thy passions move, Play round thy heart, and fix thy fickle eyes, While in despair the

On the low margin of a murm’ring stream, As rapt in meditation’s arms I lay; Each aching sense in slumbers stole away, While potent fancy form’d a soothing dream; O’er the Leucadian deep, a

Favour’d by Heav’n are those, ordain’d to taste The bliss supreme that kindles fancy’s fire; Whose magic fingers sweep the muses’ lyre, In varying cadence, eloquently chaste! Well may the mind, with tuneful numbers

Beneath an old wall, that went round an old Castle, For many a year, with brown ivy o’erspread; A neat little Hovel, its lowly roof raising, Defied the wild winds that howl’d over its

“Yes, LAURA, yes, pure as the virgin snow’s “That on the bosom of the whirlwind move,, “For thee my faithful endless passion glows.” – LEONARDO TO LAURA. COLD blows the wind upon the mountain’s

LOVE, I renounce thy tyrant sway, I mock thy fascinating art, MINE, be the calm unruffled day, That brings no torment to the heart; The tranquil mind, the noiseless scene, Where FANCY, with enchanting

BEAUTY, the attribute of Heaven! In various forms to mortals given, With magic skill enslaves mankind, As sportive fancy sways the mind. Search the wide world, go where you will, VARIETY pursues you still;

O! How can LOVE exulting Reason queil! How fades each nobler passion from his gaze! E’en Fame, that cherishes the Poet’s lays, That fame, ill-fated Sappho lov’d so well. Lost is the wretch, who

WHEN FATE in ruthless rage assail’d my breast, And Heaven relentless seal’d the harsh decree; HOPE, placid soother of the mind distress’d; To calm my rending sorrows­gave me THEE. In all the charms of

SWIFT o’er the bounding deep the VESSEL glides, Its streamers flutt’ring in the summer gales, The lofty mast the breezy air derides, As gaily o’er the glitt’ring surf she sails. Now beats each gallant

NATURE, to prove her heav’n-taught pow’r, That gems the earth, and paints the flow’r; That bids the soft enchanting note Steal from the LINNET’S downy throat; That from young MAY’S ambrosial wings, The balmy

I wake! delusive phantoms hence, away! Tempt not the weakness of a lover’s breast; The softest breeze can shake the halcyon’s nest, And lightest clouds o’ercast the dawning ray! ‘Twas but a vision! Now,

[Inscribed to Her Grace the Duchess of Devonshire.] CLOSE in a woodbine’s tangled shade, The BLOOMING GOD asleep was laid; His brows with mossy roses crown’d; His golden darts lay scatter’d round; To shade

THOU! whose sublime poetic art Can pierce the pulses of the heart, Can force the treasur’d tear to flow In prodigality of woe; Or lure each jocund bliss to birth Amid the sportive bow’rs

NEAR yon bleak mountain’s dizzy height, That hangs o’er AVON’s silent wave; By the pale Crescent’s glimm’ring light, I sought LORENZO’s lonely grave. O’er the long grass the silv’ry dew, Soft Twilight’s tears spontaneous

Oh! I could toil for thee o’er burning plains; Could smile at poverty’s disastrous blow; With thee, could wander ‘midst a world of snow, Where one long night o’er frozen Scythia reigns. Sever’d from

Here droops the muse! while from her glowing mind, Celestial Sympathy, with humid eye, Bids the light Sylph capricious Fancy fly, Time’s restless wings with transient flowr’s to bind! For now, with folded arms

Close on the margin of a brawling brook That bathes the low dell’s bosom, stands a Cot; O’ershadow’d by broad Alders. At its door A rude seat, with an ozier canopy Invites the weary

Blest as the Gods! Sicilian Maid is he, The youth whose soul thy yielding graces charm; Who bound, O! thraldom sweet! by beauty’s arm, In idle dalliance fondly sports with thee! Blest as the

Deep in th’ abyss where frantic horror bides, In thickest mists of vapours fell, Where wily Serpents hissing glare And the dark Demon of Revenge resides, At midnight’s murky hour Thy origin began: Rapacious

“What is this world?­thy school, O misery! “Our only lesson is to learn to suffer.” – YOUNG. LOVE, thou sportive fickle boy, Source of anguish, child of joy, Ever wounding­ever smiling, Soothing still, and

UPON a garden’s perfum’d bed With various gaudy colours spread, Beneath the shelter of a ROSE A BUTTERFLY had sought repose; Faint, with the sultry beams of day, Supine the beauteous insect lay. A

Can’st thou forget, O! Idol of my Soul! Thy Sappho’s voice, her form, her dulcet Lyre! That melting ev’ry thought to fond desire, Bade sweet delerium o’er thy senses roll? Can’st thou, so soon,

[As a Tribute of Esteem and Admiration this Poem is inscribed to ROBERT MERRY, Esq. A. M. Member of the Royal Academy at Florence, and Author of the Laurel of Liberty, and the Della

CAPRICIOUS foe to human joy, Still varying with the fleeting day; With thee the purest raptures cloy, The fairest prospects fade away; Nor worth, nor pow’r thy wings can bind, All earthly pleasures fly

EXULT MY MUSE! exult to see Each envious, waspish, jealous thing, Around its harmless venom fling, And dart its powerless fangs at THEE! Ne’er shalt THOU bend thy radiant wing, To sweep the dark

Delusive Hope! more transient than the ray That leads pale twilight to her dusky bed, O’er woodland glen, or breezy mountain’s head, Ling’ring to catch the parting sigh of day. Hence with thy visionary

CESARIO, thy Lyre’s dulcet measure, So sweetly, so tenderly flows; That could my sad soul taste of pleasure, Thy music would soften its woes. But ah, gentle soother, where anguish Takes root in the

My OBERON, with ev’ry sprite “That gilds the vapours of the night, “Shall dance and weave the verdant ring “With joy that mortals thus can sing; “And when thou sigh’st MARIA’S name, “And mourn’st

Come, Reason, come! each nerve rebellious bind, Lull the fierce tempest of my fev’rish soul; Come, with the magic of thy meek controul, And check the wayward wand’rings of my mind: Estrang’d from thee,

By the side of the brook, where the willow is waving Why sits the wan Youth, in his wedding-suit gay! Now sighing so deeply, now frantickly raving Beneath the pale light of the moon’s

Farewell, ye tow’ring Cedars, in whose shade, Lull’d by the Nightingale, I sunk to rest, While spicy breezes hover’d o’er my breast To fan my cheek, in deep’ning tints array’d; While am’rous insects, humming