TO ANNA MATILDA. Robert Merry Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T90094 K073164.000 Cowley, Mrs. (Hannah), 1743-1809. The Poetry of Anna Matilda. London printed by John Bell, British Library, Strand, Bookseller to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. M DCC LXXXVIII. 1788 pp. []-23. [8],139,[1]p.; 8⁰.

This e-text is part of the Works section of the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

XML created for the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

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 TCP project, this text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 4.0.0.

Library of Congress Name Authority File (LCNAF) text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center; text-align: right; text-align: left; display: inline font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;
TO ANNA MATILDA . AND art thou then , alas ! like me , OFFSPRING of frail mortality ? Must ruthless Time's rude touch efface Each lovely feature's varying grace ? And must tow'rds earth that form incline , And e'en those eyes forbear to shine ? Yet , when with icy hand he throws , Amongst thine auburn locks , his snows , The freezing influence ne'er shall dart , To chill thy warmly-beating heart ; And scorning Death's oblivious hour , Thou shalt exult — beyond his pow'r . Methinks , as Passion drives along , As frantic grown , I feel thy Song ; Eager I'd traverse LYBIA's plain , The tawny Lion's dread domain To meet thee there : nor flagging Fear , Should ever on my cheek appear : For e'en the Forest's King obeys Majestic WOMAN's potent gaze . Or , left on some resourceless shore , Where never-ceasing billows roar ; Which teeming clouds , and heavy hail , And furious hurricanes assail , Far to the Pole — while half the year , On Ebon throne sits NIGHT severe ; And to her solitary court , Sea-fowl , and monsters fierce resort — E'en there , MATILDA ! there with thee , Impending horrors all should flee ; Thy lustre of poetic ray , Should wake an artificial day . Sure thou wast never doom'd to know What pangs from care , and danger flow ; But fairest scenes thy thoughts employ , And Art , and Science , bring thee joy . The quick'ning sense , the throb divine , Fancy , and Feeling , all are thine ; 'Tis thine , by blushing Summer led , A show'r of roses round thee shed , To hie thee forth at Morn's advance , In wild excess of rapt'rous trance ; And see the Sun's proud deluge stream , In copious tides of golden beam ; While faint his Sister-Orb on high , Fades to a vapour of the sky . When gradual evening comes , to hide , In sabling shades , CREATION's pride ; When heaving hills , and forests drear , And less'ning towns , but scarce appear ; While the last ling'ring western glow , Hangs on the lucid lake below ; Then trivial joys ( I deem ) forgot , Thou lov'st to seek the humble cot , To scatter Comfort's balm around , And heal pale Poverty's deep wound ; Drive sickness from the languid bed , Raise the lorn Widow's drooping head ; Render the new-made Mother blest , And snatch the Infant to thy breast . O ANNA , then , if true thou say , Thy radiant beauties steal away , Yet shall I never fail to find Eternal beauties in thy mind . To those I offer up my vows , And Love , which Virtue's self allows ; Unknown , again thou art ador'd , As once by him , thy " bosom's Lord . " DELLA CRUSCA .