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Mary Darby Robinson - Ode to MeditationMary Darby Robinson - Ode to Meditation
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SWEET CHILD OF REASON! maid serene; With folded arms, and pensive mien, Who wand`ring near yon thorny wild, So oft, my length`ning hours beguil`d; Thou, who within thy peaceful call,  Canst laugh at LIFE`S tumultuous care, While calm repose delights to dwell  On beds of fragrant roses there; Where meek-ey`d PATIENCE waits to greet The woe-worn Trav`ller`s weary feet, `Till by her blest and cheering ray The clouds of sorrow fade away; Where conscious RECTITUDE retires; Instructive WISDOM; calm DESIRES; Prolific SCIENCE,­lab`ring ART; And GENIUS, with expanded heart. Far from thy lone and pure domain,  Steals pallid GUILT, whose scowling eye Marks the rack`d soul`s convulsive pain,  Tho` hid beneath the mask of joy; Madd`ning AMBITION`S dauntless band; Lean AVARICE with iron hand; HYPOCRISY with fawning tongue; Soft FLATT`RY with persuasive song; Appall`d in gloomy shadows fly, From MEDITATION`S piercing eye. How oft with thee I`ve stroll`d unseen O`er the lone valley`s velvet green; And brush`d away the twilight dew That stain`d the cowslip`s golden hue; Oft, as I ponder`d o`er the scene,  Would mem`ry picture to my heart, How full of grief my days have been,  How swiftly rapt`rous hours depart; Then would`st thou sweetly reas`ning say, "TIME journeys thro` the roughest day." THE HERMIT, from the world retir`d, By calm Religion`s voice inspir`d, Tells how serenely time glides on, From crimson morn, `till setting sun; How guiltless, pure, and free from strife, He journeys thro` the vale of Life; Within his breast nor sorrows mourn, Nor cares perplex, nor passions burn; No jealous fears, or boundless joys, The tenor of his mind destroys; And when revolving mem`ry shows The thorny world`s unnumber`d woes; He blesses HEAV`N`s benign decree, That gave his days to PEACE and THEE. The gentle MAID, whose roseate bloom Fades fast within a cloyster`s gloom; Far by relentless FATE remov`d, From all her youthful fancy lov`d; When her warm heart no longer bleeds, And cool Reflection`s hour succeeds; Led by THY downy hand, she strays Along the green dell`s tangled maze; Where thro` dank leaves, the whisp`ring show`rs Awake to life the fainting flow`rs; Absorb`d by THEE, she hears no more The distant torrent`s fearful roar; The well-known VESPER`s silver tone; The bleak wind`s desolating moan; No more she sees the nodding spires, Where the dark bird of night retires; While Echo chaunts her boding song The cloyster`s mould`ring walls among; No more she weeps at Fate`s decree, But yields her pensive soul to THEE. THE SAGE, whose palsy`d head bends low `Midst scatter`d locks of silv`ry snow; Still by his MIND`s clear lustre tells, What warmth within his bosom dwells; How glows his heart with treasur`d lore, How rich in Wisdom`s boundless store; In fading Life`s protracted hour, He smiles at Death`s terrific pow`r; He lifts his radiant eyes, which gleam With Resignation`s sainted beam: And, as the weeping star of morn, Sheds lustre on the wither`d thorn, His tear benign, calm comfort throws, O`er rugged Life`s corroding woes; His pious soul`s enlighten`d rays Dart forth, to gild his wint`ry days; He smiles serene at Heav`n`s decree, And his last hour resigns to THEE. When Learning, with Promethean art, Unveils to light the youthful heart; When on the richly-budding spray, The glorious beams of Genius play; When the expanded leaves proclaim The promis`d fruits of rip`ning Fame; O MEDITATION, maid divine! Proud REASON owns the work is THINE. Oft, have I known thy magic pow`r, Irradiate sorrow`s wint`ry hour; Oft, my full heart to THEE hath flown, And wept for mis`ries not its own; When pinch`d with agonizing PAIN, My restless bosom dar`d complain; Oft have I sunk upon THY breast, And lull`d my weary mind to rest; `Till I have own`d the blest decree, That gave my soul to PEACE and THEE.
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