To Lady Charlemont, in Return for Her Presents of Flowers Mary Tighe (née Blachford) 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. Tighe, Mary, 1772-1810. Psyche, With Other Poems. London Printed for LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, PATERNOSTER-ROW 1811 pp. 274-277. 314p.

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To Lady Charlemont , in Return for Her Presents of Flowers March , 1808. YES , though the sullen east-wind storm , And sunless skies the Spring deform , The lovely Nina's graceful hand Can , like a fairy's lily wand , Bid every vernal sweet appear , And bloom with early fragrance here ! Yes here , even here , they breathe perfume , Though walls of melancholy gloom , With northern aspect frowning rude , Each brighter beam of Heaven exclude . Behold ! at Nina's soft command , The flowers their velvet leaves expand , And sweet , and blue like her own eye , ( That loves in languid peace to lie , And bending beautiful in shade , Seems of the amorous light afraid ) Fresh violets here their charms diffuse , And here , with richly mingling hues , The gold and purple crocus vie To mock the pomp of majesty . See how her soul-bewitching smile Can even selfish love beguile ! While fair Narcissus bends no more His snowy beauties to adore , But lifts for once his cups of gold A fairer image to behold . Dear Nina ! teach a grateful heart Thine own persuasive , winning art ; So might I best my thanks commend , So please each kind , each cherished friend ! For , as thy hand with smiling flowers Hath crowned the lingering , wintry hours , Even thus for me affection's care Hath sheltered from the nipping air The tender buds of half-chilled hope That seemed in withering gloom to droop , And bid them bloom , revived again , In spite of years , and grief , and pain . O'er me Affection loves to shed Her comforts full , unmeasured ; To bless my smiling hearth she sends The dearer smile of dearest friends , And bids my prison couch assume No form of pain , no air of gloom ; But sweet content and cheerful ease , All that in solitude can please , And all that soothing , social love Can bid its quiet favourites prove , Wooed by the voice of tenderness , Unite my happy home to bless . As round that lovely pictured wreath Where Rubens bid his pencil breathe , Where touched with all its magic power Glow the rich colours of each flower , Attendant cherubs sweetly join , And all their odorous wings entwine ; One cherub guards each blushing flower , And pure ambrosia seems to shower : So , Nina , o'er each peaceful day Protecting love and kindness play , And shed o'er each some balmy pleasure That grateful memory loves to treasure !