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Almost uncultur'd: some with dark green leaves
Contrast their flowers of pure unsullied white;
Others like velvet robes of regal state
Of richest crimson, while, in thorny moss
Enshrin'd and cradled, the most lovely wear
The hues of youthful beauty's glowing cheek.-
With fond regret I recollect, e'en now,
In Spring and Summer, what delight I felt
Among these cottage gardens, and how much
Such artless nosegays, knotted with a rush
By village housewife or her ruddy maid,
Were welcome to me; soon and simply pleas'd.
An early worshipper at Nature's shrine,
I lov'd ber rudest scenes.

From "Beachy Head," a Poem.

MARY TIGUE, 1774-1810.

Mrs. Mary Tighe was the daughter of the Rev. William Blackford, of the county of Wicklow, Ireland. Her history seems to be but little known to the public, as I have tried in vain to find some account of her; but her early death, after six years of protracted suffering, has been commemorated by Moore, in a most beautiful lyric.'

Mrs. Tighe is chiefly known by her poem of “Psyche,” in six cantos, written in the Spenserian stanza, founded on the classic fable of Apuleius, of the loves of Cupid and Psyche, or the allegory of Love and the Soul (txun). Many of the pictures in this, the chief production of her muse, are conceived in the true spirit of poetry, while over the whole composition is spread the richest glow of purified passion. Some of her minor pieces, also, are exceedingly beautiful; and the lines “On Receiving a Branch of Mezereon,'' are scarcely exceeded, for beauty and pathos, by anything of the kind in the language.


When vexed by cares and harassed by distress,
The storms of fortune chill thy soul with dread,
Let Love, consoling Love! still sweetly bless,
And his assuasive balm benignly shed:

· See this lyric in the Selections from Thomas Moore.

· The fable, it is said, is a representation of the soul, here in its prison house, subjected to error. Trials are set before it to purify it; two loves meet il-the earthly, to draw it down to sensuous things, and the heavenly, who, directing its view above, gains the victory, and leads off the soul as his bride.

His downy plumage, o'er thy pillow spread,
Shall lull thy weeping sorrows to repose;
To Love the tender heart hath ever fled,

As on its mother's breast the infant throws
Its sobbing face, and there in sleep forgets its woes.

Oh! fondly cherish then the lovely plant,
Which lenient Heaven hath given thy pains to ease;
Its lustre shall thy summer hours enchant,
And load with fragrance every prosperous breeze;
And when rude winter shall thy roses seize,
When naught through all thy bowers but thorns remain,
This still with undeciduous charms shall please,

Screen from the blast and shelter from the rain,
And still with verdure cheer the desolated plain.

Through the hard season, Love with plaintive note
Like the kind red-breast tenderly shall sing,
Which swells mid dreary snows its tuneful throat,
Brushing the cold dews from its shivering wing,
With cheerful promise of returning spring
To the mute tenants of the leafless grove.
Guard thy best treasure from the venomed sting

Or baneful peevishness; oh! never prove
How soon ill-temper's power can banislı gentle Love!

The tears capricious beauty loves to shed,
The pouting lip, the sullen silent tongue,
May wake the impassioned lover's tender dread,
And touch the spring that clasps his soul so strong;
But ah, beware! the gentle power too long
Will not endure the frown of angry strife;
He shuns contention, and the gloomy throng

Who blast the joys of calm domestic life,
And flies when discord shakes her brand with quarrels rise.

Oh! he will tell you that these quarrels bring
The ruin, not renewal, of his flame:
If oft repeated, lo! on rapid wing
He flies to hide his sair but tender frame;
From violence, reproach, or peevish blame
Irrevocably flies. Lament in vain!
Indifference comes the abandoned heart to claim,

Asserts forever her repulsive reign,
Close followed by disgust and all her chilling train.

Indifference, dreaded power! what art shall save
The good so cherished from thy grasping hand ?
How shall young Love escape the untimely grave
Thy treacherous arts prepare? or how withstand
The insidious foe, who with her leaden band
Enchains the thoughtless, slumbering deity?
Ah, never more to wake! or e'er expand

His golden pinions to the breezy sky,
Or open to the sun his dim and languid eye,

Who can describe the hopeless, silent pang
With which the gentle heart first marks her sway?
Eyes the sure progress of her icy fang
Resistless, slowly fastening on ber prey;
Sees rapture's brilliant colors fade away,
And all the glow of beaming sympathy;
Anxious to watch the cold averted ray

That speaks no more to the fond meeting eye
Enchanting tales of love, and tenderness, and joy.

Too faithful heart! thou never canst retrieve
Thy withered hopes : conceal the cruel pain!
O’er thy lost treasure still in silence grieve;
But never to the unfeeling ear complain :
From fruitless struggles dearly bought refrain!
Submit at once-ile bitter task resign,
Nor watch and fan the expiring flame in vain;

Patience, consoling maid, may yet be thine-
Go seek her quiet cell, and lear her voice divine !

Psyche, Canto VI.


Injured, hopeless, faint and weary,

Sail, indignant, and forlorn,
Through the desert wild and dreary,

Hagar leads the child of scorn.
Who can speak a mother's anguish,

Painted in that tearless eye,
Which beholds her darling languish,

Languish unrelieved, and die?
Lo! the empty pitcher fails her!

Perishing with thirst he lies;
Death with deep despair assails lier,

Piteous as for aid he cries.
From the dreadful image flying,

Wild she rushes from the sight;
In the agonies of dying

Can she see her soul's delight?
Now bereft of every hope,

Cast upon the burning ground,
Poor, abandoned soul! look up;

Mercy have thy sorrows sound.
Lo! the Angel of the Lord

Comes thy great distress to cheer;
Listen to the gracious word,

See, divine relief is near.
" Care of Heaven! though man forsake thee,

Wherefore vainly dost thou mourn ?

From thy dream of woe awake thee,

To thy rescued child return. "Lift thine eyes! behold yon fountain,

Sparkling mid those fruitful trees ! Lo! beneath yon sheltering mountain

Smile for thee green bowers of ease. “ In the hour of sore affliction

God hath seen and pitied thee; Cheer thee in the sweet conviction

Thou henceforth his care shalt be. “ Be no more by doubts distressed,

Mother of a mighty race!
By contempt no more oppressed,

Thou hast found a resting-place.” Thus, from peace and comfort driven,

Thou, poor soul, all desolate, Hopeless lay, till pitying Heaven

Found thee, in thy abject state : O'er thy empty pitcher mourning,

Mid the desert of the world ; Thus, with shame and anguish burning,

From thy cherished pleasures hurled : See thy great deliverer nigh,

Calls thee from thy sorrow vain ;
Bids thee on his love rely,

Bless the salutary pain.
From thine eyes the mists dispelling,

Lo! the well of life he shows;
In his presence ever dwelling,

Bids thee find thy true repose. Future prospects rich in blessing

Open to thy hopes secure; Sure of endless joys possessing,

Or an heavenly kingdom sure.


How withered, perished seems the form

Or yon obscure, unsightly root! Yet from the blight of wintry storm

It hides secure the precious fruit. The careless eye can find no grace,

No beauty in the scaly folds, Nor see within the dark embrace

What latent loveliness it holds.

Yet in that bulb, those sapless scales,

The lily wraps her silver vest,
Till vernal suns and vernal gales

Shall kiss once more her fragrant breast.
Yes, hide beneath the mouldering heap

The undelighting, slighted thing;
There, in the cold earth buried deep,

In silence let it wait the spring.
Oh! many a stormy night shall close

In gloom upon the barren earth,
While still, in undisturbed repose,

Uninjured lies the future birth!
And ignorance, with skeptic eye,

Hope's patient smile shall wondering view;
Or mock her sond credulity,

As her sost tears the spot bedew.
Sweet smile of hope, delicious tear!

The sun, the shower indeed shall come;
The promised verdant shoot appear,

And nature bid her blossoms bloom.
And thou, O virgin Queen of Spring!

Shalt, from thy dark and lowly bed,
Bursting thy green sheath's silken string,

Unveil thy charms, and perfume shed;
Unfold thy robes of purest white,

Unsullied from their darksome grave-
And thy soft petals, silvery light,

In the mild breeze unfettered wave,
So Faith shall seek the lowly dust

Where humble Sorrow loves to lie,
And bid her thus her hopes entrust,

And watch with patient, cheerful eye;
And bear the long, cold, wintry night,

And bear her own degraded doom,
And wait till Heaven's reviving light,

Eternal Spring! shall burst the gloom.

May 1809.



Odors of Spring, my sense ye charm

With fragrance premature;

1 This poem was the last ever composed by the author, who expired at the place where it was written, after six years of protracted malady, on the 24th of March, 1810, in the thirty-seventh year of her age. Her fears of death

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