The Poetical Works of the Late Mrs. Mary Robinson: Including the Last Pieces Published : the Three Volumes Complete in One

Front Cover
Jones & Company, 1824 - 232 pages

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 131 - Chas'd ev'ry pain, sooth'd ev'ry woe; That Truth, unwelcome to my ear, Swells the deep sigh, recalls the tear, Gives to the sense the keenest smart, Checks the warm pulses of the Heart, Darkens my Fate, and steals away Each gleam of joy thro
Page 105 - ... summer day ! The spectre's eyes were sunk, but he Seem'd with their sockets still to see ! The second bell is heard to ring : Four barefoot monks of orders grey, Again their holy service sing ; And round the chapel altar pray : The lady counted o'er and o'er, And shudder'd while she counted — four ! " Oh ! fathers, who was he, so gay, That stood beside the chapel door ? Oh ! tell me, fathers, tell me pray.
Page 104 - Forbear, oh, lady ! look no more— They pass'd — a livid corpse they bore. They pass'd, and all was silent now ; The breeze upon the forest slept ; The moon stole o'er the mountain's brow ; Again the lady sigh'd and wept : She watch'd the holy fathers go Aloug the forest path below.
Page 208 - Is slily open'd, and the half-worn suit (Sometimes the pilfer'd treasure of the base Domestic spoiler), for one half its worth, Sinks in the green abyss. The porter now Bears his huge load along the burning way; And the poor poet wakes from busy dreams, To paint the summer morning. (Norton Anthology of Literature by Women, pp. 251-2) CRITICAL THINKING "London's Summer Morning" is prophetically modern in tone and substance.
Page 176 - And my chill'd breast in throbbing tumults rise ? Mute on the ground my lyre neglected lies, The Muse forgot, and lost the melting lay; My down-cast looks, my...
Page 151 - BOUNDING billow, cease thy motion, Bear me not so swiftly o'er; Cease thy roaring, foamy ocean, I will tempt thy rage no more. Ah! within my bosom beating, Varying passions wildly reign; Love, with proud resentment meeting, Throbs by turns, of joy and pain. Joy, that far from foes I wander, Where their...
Page 151 - Silent grief shall be my glory, — Grief, that stoops not to complain ! Let the bosom prone to ranging, Still by ranging seek a cure ; Mine disdains the thought of changing, Proudly destin'd to endure.
Page 171 - Nature's long holiday ! Luxuriant, rich, In her proud progeny, she smiling marks Their graces, now mature, and wonder-fraught ! Hail! season exquisite! — and hail, ye sons Of rural toil ! — ye blooming daughters ! — ye Who, in the lap of hardy labour rear'd, Enjoy the mind unspotted 1 Up the plain, Or on the side-long hill, or in the glen.
Page 132 - Thee. Yes ; I shall view thee in each Flow'r, That changes with the transient hour : Thy wand'ring Fancy I shall find Borne on the wings of every wind : Thy wild impetuous passions trace O'er the white wave's tempestuous space : In every changing season prove An emblem of thy wav'ring Love.
Page 178 - Where clust'ring boughs with golden citron twine; While slow vibrations, dying on the breeze, Shall soothe his soul with harmony divine! Then let my form his yielding fancy seize, And all his fondest wishes, blend with mine.

Bibliographic information