[Page 61]

To Mrs. M—S
[ed.] "[P]ossibly Caroline Morris of Bloomsbury Square, one of the subscribers to the volume". (Andrews et al. [2014], vol. 1, 370.) (AH)
.

1 Pardon, much honour'd Fair! this humble lay,
2 Nor scorn the tribute Gratitude may pay;
3 No rapturous Muse e'er warm'd my rustic breast,
4 Nor dare I own the bright exalted guest:
5 Far flies the Muse where radiant Science reigns,
6 Inspires the soul, and elevates her strains;
7 Then rapture, melody, and sense conspire,
8 And Phoebus fiercely twangs the sprightly lyre;
9 Far let her fly if Gratitude be mine,
10 Her voice shall match the whole harmonious Nine;
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11 The full-fraught heart, with fiercer ardors rise,
12 And pierce, resistless, thro' yon azure skies;
13 Nor pauses short of the Celestial Throne,
14 But seeks the ear she's certain is her own;
15 There loudly sounds a voice by Mercy given,
16 Whilst echoes vibrate thro' the vaults of Heaven,
17 There sounds your name, while list'ning Angels bend
18 The well-tun'd harp, and to the tale attend.
19 In that great day when mingled nations stand
20 Some wish, some dread Jehovah's last command,
21 Shall not my little ones, with ardour raise
22 Your plaudit high, who prop their infant days;
23 Whose voice has call'd them from the depths of woe,
24 Suppress'd the sigh, forbad the tear to flow?
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25 Low on the earth, by anguish crush'd, I lay
26 I mourn'd the night, nor hail'd the coming day,
27 When bright Aurora tipp'd the Eastern skies,
28 Hearts bless'd with plenty bade the Goddess rise;
29 Not so with me to Misery resign'd,
30 On her cold lap my wretched head reclin'd;
31 Around, grim horrors take their ghastly stand,
32 And Famine executes her dire command,
33 Nor once relents; the tear reluctant flows,
34 Not for my own, but for my infants' woes:
35 The Stoic's sullen gloom had fill'd my soul,
36 Forbad the sigh, and check'd the tears that roll;
37 Ev'n smiling Hope, soft soother of the mind,
38 Like Milton's Guardian Angel, had resign'd
39 Her charge as lost; homeward to Heaven she flies,
40 And grim Despair, and all her furies rise;
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41 O, dismal Fiend! to thee I give the world,
42 From all its joys, and shadowy visions hurl'd;
43 The contest o'er, eternal worlds are mine,
44 Where ransom'd spirits taste repose divine.

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About this text

Title (in Source Edition): To Mrs. M—S.
Author: Ann Yearsley
Themes: gratitude
Genres: address

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Source edition

Poems, on several occasions. By Ann Yearsley, a milkwoman of Bristol. The second edition. London: printed for T. Cadell, in the Strand, 1785, pp. 61-64. xxxii, 127p. (ESTC N22108)

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The text has been typographically modernized, but without any silent modernization of spelling, capitalization, or punctuation. The source of the text is given and all editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. Based on the electronic text originally produced by the ECCO-TCP project, this ECPA text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 3.0.