Mary Robinson ( )


The Adieu to Love


LOVE, I renounce thy tyrant sway,
I mock thy fascinating art,
MINE, be the calm unruffled day,
That brings no torment to the heart; 
The tranquil mind, the noiseless scene, 
Where FANCY, with enchanting mien, 
Shall in her right-hand lead along 
The graceful patroness of Song;
Where HARMONY shall softly fling 
Her light tones oer the dulcet string; 
And with her magic LYRE compose 
Each pang that throbs, each pulse that glows; 
Till her resistless strains dispense, 
The balm of blest INDIFFERENCE. 

LOVE, I defy thy vaunted powr!
In still Retirements sober bowr
Ill rest secure;no fevrish pain
Shall dart its hot-shafts thro my brain, 
No startling dreams invade my mind 
No spells my stagnate pulses bind; 
No jealous agonies impart 
Their maddning poisons to my heart 
But sweetly lulld to placid rest, 
The sensate tenant of my breast 
Shall one unshaken course pursue, 
Such as thy votries never knew. 

SWEET SOLITUDE ! pure Natures child, 
Fair pensive daughter of the wild; 
Nymph of the Forest; thee I press 
My weary sickning soul to bless; 
To give my heart the dear repose, 
That smiles unmovd at transient woes; 
That shelterd from Lifes trivial cares, 
Each calm delicious comfort shares; 
While conscious rectitude of mind, 
Blends with each thought a bliss refind, 
And scorning fears soul-chilling powr, 
Dares court REFLECTIONS dangrous hour, 
To scrutinize with cautious art, 
Each hidden channel of the heart. 

Ah, gentle maiden, let me stray,
Where Innocence for ever gay,
Shall lead me to her loveliest bowrs
And crown my brow with thornless flowrs;
And strew the weedy paths of time
With Resignations balm sublime;
While Rosy SPRING, shall smiling haste,
On light steps oer the dewy waste, 
Eager her brightest gems to shed 
Around my verdant perfumd bed; 
And in her train the glowing hours 
Shall bathe their wings in scented showrs; 
And shake the fostring drops to earth, 
To nurse meek blossoms into birth; 
And when autumnal zephyrs fly 
Sportive, beneath the sapphire sky, 
Or in the stream their pinions lave, 
Or teach the golden sheaves to wave; 
Ill watch the ruby eye of day 
In awful lustre glide away, 
And closing sink to transient rest, 
On panting Oceans pearly breast. 

O SOLITUDE ! how blest the lot 
Of her who shares thy silent cot! 
Who with celestial peace, pursues 
The pensive wandrings of the MUSE; 
To stray unseen whereer she leads, 
Oer grassy hills and sunny meads, 
Or at the still of Nights cold noon 
To gaze upon the chilly Moon, 
While PHILOMELAS mournful Song 
Meanders fairy haunts among, 
To tell the hopeless LOVERS ear, 
That SYMPATHYS FOND BIRD is near; 
Whose note shall soothe his aching heart, 
Whose grief shall emulate his smart; 
And by its sadly proud excess, 
Make every pang he suffers less; 
For oft in passions direst woes, 
The veriest wretch can yield repose; 
While from the voice of kindred grief, 
We gain a sad, but kind relief. 

AH LOVE! thou barbrous fickle boy,
Thou semblance of delusive joy,
Too long my heart has been thy slave:
For thou hast seen me wildly rave,
And with impetuous frenzy haste,
Heedless across the thorny waste,
And drink the cold dews, ere they fell
On my bare bosoms burning swell;
When bleak the wintry whirlwinds blew;
And swift the sultry meteors flew;
Yes, thou hast seen me, tyrant powr,
At freezing midnights witching hour,
Start from my couch, subdud, oppresd,
While jealous anguish wrung my breast,
While round my eager senses flew,
Dark browd Suspicions wily crew,
Taunting my soul with restless ire,
That set my pulsate brain on fire.
What didst thou then ? Inhuman Boy!
Didst thou not paint each well-feignd joy,
Each artful smile, each studyd grace
That deckd some sordid rivals face;
Didst thou not feed my maddning sense
With Loves delicious eloquence,
While on my ear thy accents pourd
The voice of him my soul adord, 
His raptrous toneshis strains divine,
And all those vows that once were mine.
But mild Reflections piercing ray,
Soon chasd the fatal dream away,
And with it all my rending woes,
While in its place majestic rose
The Angel TRUTH !her stedfast mien
Bespoke the conscious breast serene;
Her eye more radiant than the day
Beamd with persuasions temperd ray;
Sweet was her voice, and while she sung
Myriads of Seraphs hoverd round,
Eager to iterate the sound, 
That on her heavn-taught accents hung. 
Wondring I gazd! my throbbing breast, 
Celestial energies confest; 
Transports, before unfelt, unknown, 
Throngd round my bosoms trembling throne, 
While evry nerve with rapture strange, 
Seemd to partake the blissful change. 

Now with unmovd and dauntless Eye,
I mark thy winged arrows fly;
No more thy baneful spells shall bind
The purer passions of my mind;
No more, false Love, shall jealous fears
Inflame my check with scalding tears;
Or shake my vanquishd sense, or rend
My aching heart with poignant throes,
Or with tumultuous fevers blend,
Self-wounding, visionary woes. 

No more Ill waste the midnight hour 
In expectations silent bowr; 
And musing oer thy transcripts dear, 
Efface their sorrows with a tear. 
No more with timid fondness wait 
Till morn unfolds her glittring gate, 
When thy lovd songs seraphic sound, 
Woud on my quivring nerves rebound 
With proud delight;no more thy blush 
Shall oer my cheek unbidden rush, 
And scorning evry strong controul, 
Unveil the tumults of my soul. 
No more when in retirement blest, 
Shalt thou obtrude upon my rest; 
And tho encircled with delight, 
Absorb my sense, obscure my sight, 
Give to my eye the vacant glance, 
The mien that marks the mental trance; 
The faultring tonethe sudden start, 
The trembling hand, the bursting heart; 
The devious step, that strolls along 
Unmindful of the gazing throng; 
The feignd indiffrence prone to chide; 
That blazonswhat it seeks to hide. 

Nor do I dread thy vengeful wiles, 
Thy soothing voice, thy winning smiles, 
Thy trickling tear, thy mien forlorn, 
Thy prayr, thy sighs, thy oaths I scorn; 
No more on ME thy arrows showr, 
Capricious Love! I BRAVE THY POWR.



Mary Robinson's other poems:
  1. Sonnet 13. Bring, Brick to Deck My Brow
  2. Ode to Valour
  3. Sonnet 9. Ye, Who in Alleys Green
  4. Sonnet 35. What Means the Mist
  5. To Cesario


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