The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire (1842) - Gredos ...

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The Salamanca Corpus: The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire (1842) Sad despair, and cruel absence, Swift the vital thread had worn; And upon his funeral bier Hapless Edwin soon was borne. Equal grief by slower movements Brought Alicia to the tomb; Deep disease by secret workings Undermin d her youthful bloom. Absence all her comforts wasted, All her joys with Edwin flew; Though each day her glowing fancy Brought her Edwin to her view. O’er her father s rigid nature Dying sorrows now prevail;— “Live Alicia, live my daughter! Nor on me thy woes entail. My pride and hate I’ve now discarded; Edwin s merit claims thy hand; Soon, soon may propitious breezes Waft him to his native land!” Joy illum’d its former mansion, Alicia’s eye again was bright; Hope shone forth in rays of gladness, And her soul was all delight. But ah, how short our gleams of pleasure! Sorrow only seems to last; Joys, like arrows, swiftly flying, Scarce are seen ere they are past. [141] . Alicia heard her Edwin’s story, Then sweet hope for ever fled; Every look declar’d her dying, And how much she wish’d her dead. Soon her wishes were accomplish’d, Soon she breath’d her latest breath; And her parents mourn’d, heartbroken, Their dear Alicia till their death. Yearly shall the village maidens
The Salamanca Corpus: The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire (1842) Visit poor Alicia’s tomb, And, as they list her simple story, Strow fresh flowers of fairest bloom. ADDRESS TO MISS J. GALE ON HER MARRIAGE WITH THE REV. F. GRAHAM, RECTOR OF ARTHURET. ONCE Clotho on an April day Was seen to throw her rock away; The fatal rock was nearly spun, And the sad task was nearly done, The other sisters wound the clew, And heavy in the hand it grew; Atropos’ scissors open wide, And seem just ready to divide; “Enough, enough,” the Spinster cried, Threw down the weary rock, and sigh’d [142] “Let us in April’s flowery loom See how she weaves her earliest bloom, And, as the infant buds appear, Drop in their eye a lucid tear. The frame is wove of slender thread, And oft the floweret hangs its head; The bending stalk too oft gives way, And many a blossom fades ere May. But Spring her carpet-work begins, And every flower now cards and spins; Let us this jocund time of year Take some small joy in looking there; The process fair must sure delight, For sweetly blend the red and white, And sweetly life begins to dawn, And sweetly blooms the painted lawn; The flowers spring up, of every dye, That blush to meet th’ observant eye, But soon a withering blight descends, And all this short-livd beauty ends.”
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