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Mary 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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