The CRUEL PARENT. A DREAM. Mary Leapor 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. T127827 p. 413 K101776.000 Leapor, Mrs. (Mary), 1722-1746. Poems upon several occasions: By Mrs. Leapor of Brackley in Northamptonshire. London printed: and sold by J. Roberts 1748 pp. 273-279. 15,[5],282p. ; 8⁰.

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The CRUEL PARENT . A DREAM . 'TWAS when the Sun had his swift Progress made , And left his Empire to the Queen of Shade ; Bright Cynthia too , with her refulgent Train , Shot their pale Lustre o'er the dewy Plain : Sat lonely Mira with her Head reclin'd , And mourn'd the Sorrows of her helpless Kind : Then to her Fancy Celia's Woes appear , The Nymph , whose Tale deserves a pitying Tear ; Whose early Beauties met a swift Decay ; A Rose that faded at the rising Day , While Grief and Shame oppress'd her tender Age , Pursu'd by Famine and a Father's Rage ; Till too much Thought the aking Heart oppress'd . And Mira's Eye-lids clos'd in silent Rest : Then active Fancy , with her airy Train , Compos'd the Substance of the ensuing Dream . In a black Shade my wand'ring Self I found , A Wood encircl'd by a thorny Bound ; Where Oaks up-rais'd their kingly Heads on high , And the pleas'd Linnets thro' the Branches fly : There lofty Elms the wond'ring Skies invade , And the dark Cypress cast a browner Shade : Grave Laurels there the humbler Shrubs o'erlook ; There the pale Ash , and there the Poplar shook ; Here pliant Elder whom her Fruits adorn , And the brown Hasel wove with shagged Thorn : Rude Briers there their clasping Tendrels twine , Whose rugged Arms with useless Roses shine . Beyond the Confines of the dusky Brake , A Plain was bounded with a putrid Lake , Where Planks of Timber stretch'd on mould'ring Beams , Form'd a weak Passage o'er the standing Streams , Whose slimy Waters to its Arches clung , Where wrap'd in Weeds the clodded Vermin hung , On this brown Plain surrounded by the Wood , And the green Lake — an aged Castle stood ; Whose iron Gates were strictly shut to all , And frowning Roofs hung o'er the crumbling Wall : Here perch'd Revenge and ever-wasting Care , And Melancholy with dishivel'd Hair . Before the Portals wait a grisly Band , Fraud with a Pencil in her shaking Hand : Long Scrolls of Parchment at her Feet were laid , Behind her Shoulder stood her ghastly Maid : Oppreffion nam'd — and stretch'd her filthy Claw , And next pale Av'rice with insatiate Maw ; Two cumbrous Bags his twining Arms infold , Of canker'd Silver and of useless Gold : Grimly he stands , and by his Side appears Fierce Cruelty , all drench'd in Orphans Tears ; Within ( attended by relentless Hate ) Suspicion squinted through the barbarous Grate : To these rude Doors approach'd with bashful Mien , Soft Celia once the brightest of the Plain , But now the Roses from her Cheeks were flown , Nor cou'd the Fair One by her Charms be known ; Those Charms are now in sable Weeds array'd , Her Arm supported by a mournful Maid : From her wan Eyes the Tears incessant flow , And all her Form was Penitence and Woe . But see Lysegus , her relentless Sire , Whose Eye-balls sparkl'd with disdainful Ire ; His potent Hand the sounding Locks obey , With grating Noise the horrid Gates gave way : Then prostrate at his Feet the Damsel lay . Three times to speak the lovely Mourner try'd ; Thrice on her Lips the fainting Murmurs dy'd ; Sigh follows Sigh , and Tear succeeds to Tear : At length she cry'd — Ah ! may Lysegus hear ; If Nature or if Penitence may sue , Ah ! let my Sorrows find Relief from you ; The nightly Stars my constant Wailings know , The rising Sun is Witness to my Woe : But who shall paint what wretched Celia feels , While Shame and Famine hunt her flying Heels : The Fools deride me , and the virtuous shun , Then to the Fields and lonely Shades I run ; Yet find no Comfort from the lonely Shade , At my Approach the Blossoms seem to fade : I fly to Wilds unknown to human Kind , But cannot leave my hated Self behind ; And am — Oh am I — by my Parent curs'd ; Of all my Woes the deepest and the worst : She said — Lysegus answer'd in a Rage , Hence vile Disturber of my luckless Age : Think not by Tears this stubborn Heart to win , Nor jar my Senses with thy hateful Din : Go learn of Vagrants ( fit Companions ) go , Their Arts of Stealing and their Whine of Woe . Yet when before the Gate of Pride you stand , And crave your Morsel at the Porter's Hand ; May some stern Slave prevent the coming Prize , Thrown to the Dogs before thy longing Eyes : He ceas'd — but Celia views no more the Sun , For now her Sorrow with her Life was done : Her Eyes no more afford their lucid Streams , Nor the Pulse struggles in her quiet Veins . The Tyrant view'd her with a ghastly Look , His Heart beat heavy , and his Sinews shook ; When lo a Spectre horrible to view , Rose quick as Vapours of a Morning Dew ; Whose Presence cast unpleasing Darkness round , A Cypress Wreath his faded Temples crown'd : Strange Forms were painted on his sable Robe , One Hand extended bore a crystal Globe ; Where the pale Sinner might his Picture find , Yet not his Features , but his darker Mind : In vain to shun the faithful Glass he tries , It plays unask'd before his aking Eyes : His quick left Hand with this perform'd its Part , His Right was dreadful with a poison'd Dart : Then with a loud and horrid Voice he cry'd , Lysegus , mourn thy Cruelty and Pride : From the fair Court of Equity I came , Call'd by thy Sins , and Conscience is my Name : This venom'd Dart shall now thy Entrails tear , And teach thy Eyes to know the melting Tear : Prepare thy Spirits for their Weight of Woe , With Celia's Name I arm the dreadful Blow : He said and struck — the visionary Dart Sought the dark Bottom of Lysegus' Heart : He fell — and falling rais'd a fearful Cry ; Then Mira 'woke , and found the Morning Sky .