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Almost uncultur'd: some with dark green leaves
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.
LOVE MUST BE FONDLY CHERISHED.
When vexed by cares and harassed by distress,
· 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,
As on its mother's breast the infant throws
Oh! fondly cherish then the lovely plant,
Screen from the blast and shelter from the rain,
Through the hard season, Love with plaintive note
Or baneful peevishness; oh! never prove
The tears capricious beauty loves to shed,
Who blast the joys of calm domestic life,
Oh! he will tell you that these quarrels bring
Asserts forever her repulsive reign,
Indifference, dreaded power! what art shall save
His golden pinions to the breezy sky,
Who can describe the hopeless, silent pang
That speaks no more to the fond meeting eye
Too faithful heart! thou never canst retrieve
Patience, consoling maid, may yet be thine-
Psyche, Canto VI.
HAGAR IN THE DESERT.
Injured, hopeless, faint and weary,
Sail, indignant, and forlorn,
Hagar leads the child of scorn.
Painted in that tearless eye,
Languish unrelieved, and die?
Perishing with thirst he lies;
Piteous as for aid he cries.
Wild she rushes from the sight;
Can she see her soul's delight?
Cast upon the burning ground,
Mercy have thy sorrows sound.
Comes thy great distress to cheer;
See, divine relief is near.
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!
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 ;
Bless the salutary pain.
Lo! the well of life he shows;
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,
Shall kiss once more her fragrant breast.
The undelighting, slighted thing;
In silence let it wait the spring.
In gloom upon the barren earth,
Uninjured lies the future birth!
Hope's patient smile shall wondering view;
As her sost tears the spot bedew.
The sun, the shower indeed shall come;
And nature bid her blossoms bloom.
Shalt, from thy dark and lowly bed,
Unveil thy charms, and perfume shed;
Unsullied from their darksome grave-
In the mild breeze unfettered wave,
Where humble Sorrow loves to lie,
And watch with patient, cheerful eye;
And bear her own degraded doom,
Eternal Spring! shall burst the gloom.
ON RECEIVING A BRANCH OF MEZEREON WIIICH FLOWERED
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