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

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

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<strong>The</strong> Salamanca Corpus: <strong>The</strong> <strong>Poetical</strong> <strong>Works</strong> <strong>of</strong> <strong>Miss</strong> <strong>Susanna</strong> <strong>Blamire</strong> (<strong>1842</strong>)<br />

<strong>The</strong> tall trees lengthen in the sombre gloom;<br />

Her brighter gleams now light the leafy tower,<br />

Now show the Gothic arches <strong>of</strong> the dome.<br />

1 Shakspeare.<br />

[92] MISS BLAMIRE S<br />

A wandering cloud will sometimes cross her way,<br />

Her head <strong>of</strong>t bowing lets the stranger pass,<br />

“While golden stars the canopy enlay,<br />

And shadowy forms fly o’er the waving grass.<br />

In solemn groves, where silver lamps late hung,<br />

<strong>The</strong> fear-struck traveller sees huge spectres rise;<br />

Sees grisly ghosts and stalking phantoms come,<br />

As darkness draws the curtain <strong>of</strong> the skies.<br />

In yonder tower the meditative mind<br />

May suit the subject to the scene around,<br />

Find some memento murmur in the wind,<br />

Or print the smallest leaf that strows the ground.<br />

BRIDE-CAKE.<br />

How shall the muse in chinking rhyme impart<br />

<strong>The</strong> warmth <strong>of</strong> gratitude that fires my heart,<br />

To thee, my friend, who taught the easy way<br />

To see my destiny as clear as day!<br />

Nor need I now, with trembling steps and slow,<br />

To yonder church’s porch in terror go;<br />

Or hail pale Cynthia in the coming year,<br />

When first she’s seen, and kindly means to hear<br />

Each love petition, when the kneeling maid<br />

Cold ashes pours on her fantastic head,<br />

And there invokes the goddess to unfold<br />

Some scroll <strong>of</strong> Destiny, by Fates enroll’d,<br />

That names the man, whom bounteous they afford,<br />

To be her lover, husband, fool, or lord;<br />

[93] .<br />

Nor need the Cake <strong>of</strong> Silence now be made,<br />

And I quite tongue-tied backward go to bed;<br />

Saint Agnes, why such cruel fasts impose!<br />

I ask thee not one secret to disclose;

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