[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 (née Cromartie)
Themes: gratitude
Genres: address

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Source edition

Yearsley, Ann, 1753-1806. Poems, on several occasions. By Ann Yearsley, a milkwoman of Bristol [poems only]. The second edition. London: printed for T. Cadell, in the Strand, 1785, pp. 61-64. xxxii, 127p. (ESTC N22108)

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