Mary Tighe

Anonymous, "On reading the last Poem written by Mrs. Tighe, On Receiving a Branch of Mezerion" Belfast Monthly Magazine 8 (April 1812) 298.

Ere Psyche joined th' immortal choir,
Such the last sorrows of her lyre!
Pupil of patience — from whose smile
She learn'd her sufferings to beguile,
And bless each soft consoling ray,
That beam'd upon her wintry day.

The couch of sickness ne'er was seen,
To shine with lustre more serene;
Light, social graces hover'd there,
The fav'ring muse heard Psyche's prayer;
Friendship with dove-like eyes would bring
The fairest blossoms of the spring,
And music flings her spells around
With sweetest witchery of sound,
Waking now the song of pleasure,
Now with rapid change of measure,
Ere the gay visions disappear,
Surprising soft the sudden tear.

But brighter rays are seen to shine
Around her couch with light divine:
A saint-like mother's arm supports
The drooping rose; a mother courts
Her smile with each endearing art,
That love can teach a female heart.

Pale, placid mourner! years have shed
Their silver honours on thy head:
Yet in thine eye, unquench'd by time,
Strong faith resides, and hope sublime,
Guides that direct thy Psyche's way,
To regions of eternal day.

Then Seraph! rise to realms above,
Where all is harmony and love.