Mary Darby Robinson: Всі вірші поета

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Female Fashions for 1799

A form, as any taper, fine ;

A head like half-pint bason ;

Where golden cords, and bands entwine,

As rich as fleece of JASON.

A pair of shoulders strong and wide,

Like country clown enlisting ;

Bare arms long dangling by the side,

And shoes of ragged listing !

by Mary Darby Robinson

Ode to the Nightingale

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 sky.

Or on the filmy vapours glide

Along the misty moutain's side?

by Mary Darby Robinson

Golfre, Gothic Swiss Tale

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 down the valley,

by Mary Darby Robinson

Sonnet XVIII: Why Art Thou Chang'd?

Why art thou chang'd? O Phaon! tell me why?

Love flies reproach, when passion feels decay;

Or, I would paint the raptures of that day,

When, in sweet converse, mingling sigh with sigh,

I mark'd the graceful languor of thine eye

As on a shady bank entranc'd we lay:

O! Eyes! whose beamy radiance stole away

As stars fade trembling from the burning sky!

by Mary Darby Robinson

Deborah's Parrot, a Village Tale

'Twas in a little western town

An ancient Maiden dwelt:

Her name was MISS, or MISTRESS, Brown,

Or DEBORAH, or DEBBY: She

Was doom'd a Spinster pure to be,

For soft delights her breast ne'er felt:

Yet, she had watchful Ears and Eyes

For ev'ry youthful neighbour,

by Mary Darby Robinson

Echo to Him Who Complains

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 scorch'd wood, thy well-known form

More radiant than an angel seems,

Contending with the ruthless storm.

by Mary Darby Robinson

Stanzas to a Friend

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 the world, my weary mind recoils

From splendid scenes, and transitory joys;

From fell Ambition's false and fruitless toils,

From hope that flatters, and from bliss that cloys.

by Mary Darby Robinson

The Origin of Cupid -- A Fable

ON IDA'S mount the gods were met,

A sportive, jolly, noisy set,

Resolving nectar bowls to quaff,

To revel, riot, sing and laugh;

For gods will frolic now and then,

And err like earth-born sons of men.

From early dawn till setting day

The jocund hours had roll'd away,

by Mary Darby Robinson

Ode to Envy

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 MALICE was thy sire;

Thy Dam the sullen witch, Despair;

by Mary Darby Robinson

Sonnet XXIV: O Thou! Meek Orb

O thou! meek Orb! that stealing o'er the dale

Cheer'st with thy modest beams the noon of night!

On the smooth lake diffusing silv'ry light,

Sublimely still, and beautifully pale!

What can thy cool and placid eye avail,

Where fierce despair absorbs the mental sight,

While inbred glooms the vagrant thoughts invite,

To tempt the gulph where howling fiends assail?

by Mary Darby Robinson

The Lascar

"Another day, Ah! me, a day

"Of dreary Sorrow is begun!

"And still I loath the temper'd ray,

"And still I hate the sickly Sun!

"Far from my Native Indian shore,

"I hear our wretched race deplore;

"I mark the smile of taunting Scorn,

by Mary Darby Robinson

Canzonet

SLOW the limpid currents twining,

Brawl along the lonely dell,

'Till in one wild stream combining,

Nought its rapid course can quell;

So at first LOVE'S poisons stealing,

Round the heart unheeded play,

While we hope our pangs concealing,

Vainly hope to check his sway.

by Mary Darby Robinson