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