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Poem by Mary Robinson
Oberon to the Queen of the Fairies
My OBERON, with ev’ry sprite ”That gilds the vapours of the night, ”Shall dance and weave the verdant ring ”With joy that mortals thus can sing; ”And when thou sigh’st MARIA’S name, ”And mourn’st to feel a hopeless flame, ”Eager they’ll catch the tender note ”Just parting from thy tuneful throat, ”And bear it to the careless ear ”Of her who scorn’d a lover’s tear. ” - QUEEN OF THE FARIES TO IL FERITO. SWEET MAB! at thy command I flew O’er glittering floods of midnight dew, O’er many a silken violet’s head, Unpress’d by vulgar mortal tread; Eager to execute thy will, I mounted on the ZEPHYR’S wing, And bid her whisp’ring tongue be still, Nor thro’ the air its murmurs fling. Cold CYNTHIA hid her silver bow Beneath her azure spangled vest; No gentle ray my wand’rings blest, Save the small night-worm’s twinkling glow. Upon the budding thorn I found A veil of gossamer, which bound My tiny head;about my waist A scarf of magic pow’r I threw, With many a crystal dew-drop grac’d, And deck’d with leaves of various hue. Thus, gaily dress’d, I reach’d the grove, Where, like the Paphian Queen of Love Upon a bank of lillies fair MARIA slept; the am’rous air Snatch’d nectar from her balmy lips, Sweeter than haughty JUNO sips, When GANYMEDE her goblet fills With juice, the citron bud distills. Her breast was whiter than the down That on the RING-DOVE’S bosom grows; Her cheek, more blushing than the rose That blooms on FLORA’S May-day crown! Beneath her dark and ”fringed lid,” I spy’d LOVE’S glittering arrows hid; I listen’d to the dulcet song That trembled on her tuneful tongue; And, ”IL FERITO i;” was the sound The babbling echo whisper’d round: The blissful moment swift I caught, And to the maiden’s slumb’ring thought Pictur’d the graces of his mind, His taste, his eloquence refin’d! His polish’d manners sweetly mild! His soft poetic warblings wild ! His warm impassion’d verse, that fills The soul with Love’s extatic thrills. I mark’d the blush upon her cheek, Her spotless bosom’s language speak; I mark’d the tear of pity roll, Sweet emblem of her feeling soul: I heard the sympathetic sigh Upon her lips vermilion die. When busy LOVE too eager sped His light steps near the charmer’s bed; His pinions rustling thro’ the air Awoke the trembling spotless fair; Swiftly her radiant eyes unclose, When, on my filmy wing I rose Sweet MAB the rapt’rous tale to bear, TO ”IL FERITO’S” GRATEFUL EAR.
Mary Robinson's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org