Written at West-Aston. June, 1808. 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. 278-280. 314p.

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Written at West-Aston . June , 1808. YES , I remember the dear suffering saint , Whose hand , with fond , commemorative care , Planted that myrtle on my natal day . It was a day of joy to him she loved Best upon earth ; — and still her gentle heart , That never felt one passion's eager throb , Nor aught but quiet joys , and patient woes , Was prompt to sympathize with all ; and most With that beloved brother . — She had hoped Perchance , that , fondly on his arm reclined In placid happiness , her feeble step Might here have wandered through these friendly shades , This hospitable seat of kindred worth : And that the plant , thus reared , in future years Might win his smile benignant , when her hand Should point where , in its bower of loveliness , Bright spreading to the sun its fragrant leaf , His Mary's myrtle bloomed . — Ah me ! 'tis sad When sweet affection thus designs in vain , And sees the fragile web it smiling spun In playful love , crushed by the sudden storm , And swept to dark oblivion , mid the wreck Of greater hopes ! — Even while she thought of bliss , Already o'er that darling brother's head The death-commissioned angel noiseless waved His black and heavy wings : and though she mourned That stroke , in pious sorrow , many a year , Yet , even then , the life-consuming shaft In her chaste breast she uncomplaining bore . Now , both at rest , in blessed peacefulness , With no impatient hope , regret , or doubt , Await that full completion of the bliss Which their more perfect spirits shall receive . Fair blossomed her young tree , effusing sweet Its aromatic breath ; for other eyes Blushed the soft folded buds , and other hands Pruned its luxuriant branches : friendship still Preserved the fond memorial ; nay , even yet Would fain preserve with careful tenderness The blighted relic of what once it loved . Hard were the wintry hours felt even here Amid these green protecting walls , and late The timid Spring , oft chilled and rudely checked , At last unveiled her tenderest charms , and smiled With radiant blushes on her amorous train : But no reviving gale , no fruitful dew , Visits the brown parched leaf , or from the stem , The withering stem , elicits the young shoots With hopes of life and beauty ; yet thy care Perhaps , dear Sydney , thine assiduous care May save it still . What can resist the care Of fond , assiduous love ? Oh ! it can raise The shuddering soul , though sunk beneath the black , Suspended pall of death ! Believe this lip , Believe this grateful heart , which best can feel The life-restoring power of watchful love .