TO A WANDERING HUSBAND, FROM A DESERTED WIFE. Isabella Kelly (née Fordyce) 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. T122123 Kelly, Isabella, 1759-1857. Collection of Poems and Fables on Several Occasions. London W. Richardson 1794 pp. 27-29. 72p.

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TO A WANDERING HUSBAND , FROM A DESERTED WIFE . Say , where is that charming repose That so lately illumin'd my breast , Like the sun that so chearfully shone , And at eve sooth'd me kindly to rest ? Alas ! it no longer is mine , No more on my morning it beams ; Despair now possesses its place , And presides even over my dreams . Why did my fond credulous heart Give delusion such easy belief ; Why listen with rapture to vows Now forgot , and devote me to grief ? Alas ! whensoe'er I attempt A respite from anguish to find , From the world and its scorn I retire , Still , still it adheres to my mind ; The admonishing spirit within Thy conscience must whisper , beware ! Haste — restore a fond wife to delight , A mother preserve from despair . The soft southern gale as it blows , Appears with my sorrows to mourn ; Gentle echo with pity replies , " Mary's peace ne'er again can return . " Tho' religion's meek aid I implore , Yet the softest ideas afire ; And this heart , tho' disdain'd , still adores What my reason no longer can prize . But alas ! could the error be mine ? Say , could it e'er spring from my mind , When so fondly thou often hast said , Mary's bosom is chaste and refin'd ? Still triumph — my wrongs are unknown ; Oh ! torture be hush'd , be represt ; To be pitied I yet am too proud , And thy fame is still dear to my breast ; Ever dear ! yet be warn'd by my love ; Retribution's bright morning will rise , And those wrongs , unremember'd by thee , Some angel will waft to the skies . Farewel to each blessing below , My moments to care I resign ; Though I die , may thy pleasure increase ! Thy Mary will never repine : To the grave thy fond wife will retire , It will shelter — will yield her repose ; Its coldness will chill her warm heart , Free thee — and her sorrows compose .