An Epistle To Dr. Moore.

    Whether dispensing hope, and ease
    To the pale victim of disease,
    Or in the social crowd you sit,
    And charm the group with sense and wit,
    Moore's partial ear will not disdain
    Attention to my artless strain.

Helen Maria Williams

Helen Maria Williams was an English poet, novelist, translator, and abolitionist known for her support of the French Revolution. She made significant contributions to literature through her poems and novels, highlighting issues of her time such as gender equality and political justice. Her works were praised for their emotional depth and social commentary. She was also an influential figure in the abolitionist movement, championing the cause of ending slavery.

Helen Maria Williams

Peru. Canto The Fourth.

Helen Maria Williams, Simple Poetry

Sonnet, To Mrs. Bates.

Helen Maria Williams, Simple Poetry

A Hymn.

Helen Maria Williams, Simple Poetry

Peru. Canto The First.

Helen Maria Williams, Simple Poetry

English

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To Sensibility.

In Sensibility's lov'd praise
    I tune my trembling reed;
And seek to deck her shrine with bays,
    On which my heart must bleed!

No cold exemption from her pain
    I ever wish'd to know;
Cheer'd with her transport, I sustain
    Without complaint her woe.

Above whate'er content can give,
    Above the charm of ease,
The restless hopes, and fears that live
    With her, have power to please.

Where but for her, were Friendship's power
    To heal the wounded heart,
To shorten sorrow's ling'ring hour,
    And bid its gloom depart?

'Tis she that lights the melting eye
    With looks to anguish dear;
She knows the price of ev'ry sigh,
    The value of a tear.

She prompts the tender marks of love
   ...

Helen Maria Williams

Queen Mary's Complaint.

I.

Pale moon! thy mild benignant light
May glad some other captive's sight;
Bright'ning the gloomy objects nigh,
Thy beams a lenient thought supply:
But, oh, pale moon! what ray of thine
Can sooth a misery like mine!
Chase the sad image of the past,
And woes for ever doom'd to last.


II.

Where are the years with pleasure gay?
How bright their course! how short their stay! -
Where are the crowns, that round my head
A double glory vainly spread?
Where are the beauties wont to move,
The grace, converting awe to love?
Alas, had fate design'd to bless,
Its equal hand had giv'n me less!


III.

Why did the regal garb array
A breast that tender passions sway?
A soul of unsuspicious frame,
Which leans...

Helen Maria Williams

To Mrs. Montagu.

While, bending at thy honour'd shrine, the Muse
    Pours, MONTAGU, to thee her votive strain,
Thy heart will not her simple notes refuse,
    Or chill her timid soul with cold disdain.

O might a transient spark of genius fire
    The fond effusions of her fearful youth;
Then should thy virtues live upon her lyre,
    And give to harmony the charm of truth.

Vain wish! they ask not the imperfect lay,
    The weak applause her trembling accents breathe;
With whose pure radiance glory blends her ray,
    Whom fame has circled with her fairest wreathe.

Thou, who while seen with graceful step to tread
    Grandeur's enchanted round, can'st meekly pause
To rend the veil obscurity had spread
    Where his lone sigh deserted Genius draws;

To le...

Helen Maria Williams

To Lady Jersey. On Being Asked To Write Something In Her Album.

Written at Middleton.


Oh albums, albums, how I dread
    Your everlasting scrap and scrawl!
How often wish that from the dead
Old Omar would pop forth his head,
    And make a bonfire of you all!

So might I 'scape the spinster band,
    The blushless blues, who, day and night,
Like duns in doorways, take their stand,
To waylay bards, with book in hand,
    Crying for ever, "Write, sir, write!"

So might I shun the shame and pain,
    That o'er me at this instant come,
When Beauty, seeking Wit in vain,
Knocks at the portal of my brain,
    And gets, for answer, "Not at home!"

November, 1828.

Thomas Moore

Boat Glee.

The song that lightens the languid way,
        When brows are glowing,
        And faint with rowing,
Is like the spell of Hope's airy lay,
To whose sound thro' life we stray;
The beams that flash on the oar awhile,
    As we row along thro' the waves so clear,
Illume its spray, like the fleeting smile
    That shines o'er sorrow's tear.

Nothing is lost on him who sees
    With an eye that feeling gave;--
For him there's a story in every breeze,
    And a picture in every wave.
Then sing to lighten the languid way;
        When brows are glowing,
        And faint with rowing,
'Tis like the spell of Hope's airy lay,
To whose sound thro' life we stray.

            *            *            *            *            *

'Tis sweet...

Thomas Moore

Oh! Think Not My Spirits Are Always As Light.

Oh! think not my spirits are always as light,
    And as free from a pang as they seem to you now;
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night
    Will return with to morrow to brighten my brow.
No!--life is a waste of wearisome hours,
    Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns;
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers,
    Is always the first to be touched by the thorns.
But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile--
    May we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here,
Than the tear that enjoyment may gild with a smile,
    And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear.

The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows!
    If it were not with friendship and love intertwined:
And I care not how soon I may sink to repose,
    When the...

Thomas Moore