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Mary Darby Robinson - Ode to Reflection
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O THOU, whose sober precepts can controul 
The wild impatience of the troubled soul, 
Sweet Nymph serene ! whose all-consoling pow`r 
Awakes to calm delight the ling`ring hour; 
     O hear thy suppliant`s ardent pray`r ! 
     Chase from my pensive mind corroding care, 
Steal thro` the heated pulses of the brain, 
Charm sorrow to repose­and lull the throb of pain. 

     O, tell me, what are life`s best joys? 
     Are they not visions that decay, 
     Sweet honey`d poisons, gilded toys, 
     Vain glitt`ring baubles of a day? 
O say what shadow do they leave behind, 
Save the sad vacuum of the sated mind? 

     Borne on the eagle wings of Fame, 
     MAN soars above calm Reason`s sway, 
     "Vaulting AMBITION" mocks each tender claim, 
     Plucks the dear bonds of social life away; 
As o`er the vanquish`d slave she wields her spear, 
COMPASSION turns aside—-REFLECTlON drops a tear. 

     Behold the wretch, whose sordid heart, 
     Steep`d in Content`s oblivious balm, 
     Secure in Luxury`s bewitching calm, 
Repels pale Mis`ry`s touch, and mocks Affliction`s smart; 
     Unmov`d he marks the bitter tear, 
     In vain the plaints of woe his thoughts assail, 
     The bashful mourner`s pitious tale 
Nor melts his flinty soul, nor vibrates on his ear, 

     O blest REFLECTION ! let thy magic pow`r 
Awake his torpid sense, his slumb`ring thought, 
     Tel1 him ADVERSITY`S unpitied hour 
     A brighter lesson gives, than Stoics taught: 
     Tell him that WEALTH no blessing can impart 
So sweet as PITY`S tear­that bathes the wounded Heart. 

     Go tell the vain, the insolent, and fair, 
     That life`s best days are only days of care; 
     That BEAUTY, flutt`ring like a painted fly, 
     Owes to the spring of youth its rarest die; 
     When Winter comes, its charms shall fade away, 
     And the poor insect wither in decay: 
     Go bid the giddy phantom learn from thee, 
     That VIRTUE only braves mortality. 

     Then come, REFLECTION, soft-ey`d maid! 
       I know thee, and I prize thy charms; 
     Come, in thy gentlest smiles array`d, 
       And I will press thee in my eager arms: 
Keep from my aching heart the "fiend DESPAIR," 
Pluck from my brow her THORN, and plant the OLIVE there.
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