Read Ebook: Poems (1786) Volume I. by Williams Helen Maria

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OF THE

FIRST VOLUME.

An American Tale. Sonnet to Mrs. Bates. Sonnet to Twilight. To Sensibility. A Song. An Ode on the Peace. Edwin and Eltruda, a Legendary Tale. A Hymn. Paraphrases from Scripture.

AN AMERICAN TALE.

"Ah! pity all the pangs I feel, If pity e'er ye knew;-- An aged father's wounds to heal, Thro' scenes of death I flew.

Perhaps my hast'ning steps are vain, Perhaps the warrior dies!-- Yet let me sooth each parting pain-- Yet lead me where he lies."

Thus to the list'ning band she calls, Nor fruitless her desire, They lead her, panting, to the walls That hold her captive sire.

"And is a daughter come to bless These aged eyes once more? Thy father's pains will now be less-- His pains will now be o'er!"

"My father! by this waining lamp Thy form I faintly trace:-- Yet sure thy brow is cold, and damp, And pale thy honour'd face.

In vain thy wretched child is come, She comes too late to save! And only now can share thy doom, And share thy peaceful grave!"

Soft, as amid the lunar beams, The falling shadows bend, Upon the bosom of the streams, So soft her tears descend,

"Those tears a father ill can bear, He lives, my child, for thee! A gentle youth, with pitying care, Has lent his aid to me.

Born in the western world, his hand Maintains its hostile cause, And fierce against Britannia's band His erring sword he draws;

Yet feels the captive Briton's woe; For his ennobled mind, Forgets the name of Britain's foe, In love of human kind.

Yet know, my child, a dearer tie Has link'd his heart to mine; He mourns with Friendship's holy sigh, The youth belov'd of thine!

"Stranger! for that dear father's sake She cry'd, in accents mild, Who lives by thy kind pity, take The blessings of his child!

Oh, if in heaven, my Edward's breast This deed of mercy knew, That gives my tortur'd bosom rest, He sure would bless thee too!

Oh tell me where my lover fell! The fatal scene recall, His last, dear accents, stranger, tell, Oh haste and tell me all!

Say, if he gave to love the sigh, That set his spirit free; Say, did he raise his closing eye, As if it sought for me."

"Ask not, her father cry'd, to know What known were added pain; Nor think, my child, the tale of woe Thy softness can sustain."

"Tho' every joy with Edward fled, When Edward's friend is near, It sooths my breaking heart, she said, To tell those joys were dear.

The western ocean roll'd in vain Its parting waves between, My Edward brav'd the dang'rous main, And bless'd our native scene.

Soft Isis heard his artless tale, Ah, stream for ever dear! Whose waters, as they pass'd the vale, Receiv'd a lover's tear.

How could a heart, that virtue lov'd, Lamented youth! behold unmov'd, The virtues that were thine?

Calm, as the surface of the lake, When all the winds are still, Mild, as the beams of morning break, When first they light the hill;

So calm was his unruffled soul, Where no rude passion strove; So mild his soothing accents stole, Upon the ear of love.

Where are the dear illusions fled Which sooth'd my former hours? Where is the path that fancy spread, Ah, vainly spread with flowers!

I heard the battle's fearful sounds, They seem'd my lover's knell-- I heard, that pierc'd with ghastly wounds, My vent'rous lover fell!--

My sorrows shall with life endure, For he I lov'd is gone; But something tells my heart, that sure My life will not be long."--

"My panting soul can bear no more, The youth, impatient cried, 'Tis Edward bids thy griefs be o'er, My love! my destin'd bride!

The life which heav'n preserv'd, how blest, How fondly priz'd by me, Since dear to my Amelia's breast, Since valued still by thee!

My father saw my constant pain, When thee I left behind, Nor longer will his power restrain, The ties my soul would bind.

And soon thy honor'd sire shall cease The captive's lot to bear, And we, my love, will soothe to peace His griefs, with filial care.

Then come for ever to my soul! Amelia come, and prove! How calm our blissful years will roll, Along a life of love!--

SONNET,

To MRS. BATES.

Oh, thou whose melody the heart obeys, Thou who can'st all its subject passions move, Whose notes to heav'n the list'ning soul can raise, Can thrill with pity, or can melt with love! Happy! whom nature lent this native charm; Whose melting tones can shed with magic power, A sweeter pleasure o'er the social hour, The breast to softness sooth, to virtue warm--But yet more happy! that thy life as clear From discord, as thy perfect cadence flows; That tun'd to sympathy, thy faithful tear, In mild accordance falls for others woes; That all the tender, pure affections bind In chains of harmony, thy willing mind!

SONNET

To TWILIGHT.

Meek Twilight! soften the declining day, And bring the hour my pensive spirit loves; When, o'er the mountain flow descends the ray That gives to silence the deserted groves. Ah, let the happy court the morning still, When, in her blooming loveliness array'd, She bids fresh beauty light the vale, or hill, And rapture warble in the vocal shade. Sweet is the odour of the morning's flower, And rich in melody her accents rise; Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour, At which her blossoms close, her music dies-- For then, while languid nature droops her head, She wakes the tear 'tis luxury to shed.

TO SENSIBILITY.

No cold exemption from her pain I ever wish'd to know; Cheer'd with her transport, I sustain Without complaint her woe.

Above whate'er content can give, Above the charm of ease, The restless hopes, and fears that live With her, have power to please.

Where but for her, were Friendship's power To heal the wounded heart, To shorten sorrow's ling'ring hour, And bid its gloom depart?

'Tis she that lights the melting eye With looks to anguish dear; She knows the price of ev'ry sigh, The value of a tear.

She prompts the tender marks of love Which words can scarce express; The heart alone their force can prove, And feel how much they bless.

Of every finer bliss the source! 'Tis she on love bestows The softer grace, the boundless force Confiding passion knows;

When to another, the fond breast Each thought for ever gives; When on another, leans for rest. And in another lives!

Quick, as the trembling metal flies, When heat or cold impels, Her anxious heart to joy can rise, Or sink where anguish dwells!

Yet tho' her soul must griefs sustain Which she alone, can know; And feel that keener sense of pain Which sharpens every woe;

Tho' she the mourner's grief to calm, Still shares each pang they feel, And, like the tree distilling balm, Bleeds, others wounds to heal;

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