Charlotte Turner Smith (Шарлотта Смит)
Ode to Death
FRIEND of the wretched! wherefore should the eye Of blank Despair, whence tears have ceased to flow, Be turn'd from thee?--Ah! wherefore fears to die He, who compell'd each poignant grief to know, Drains to its lowest dregs the cup of woe? Would Cowardice postpone thy calm embrace, To linger out long years in torturing pain? Or not prefer thee to the ills that chase Him, who too much impoverish'd to obtain From British Themis right , implores her aid in vain! Sharp goading Indigence who would not fly, That urges toil the exhausted strength above? Or shun the once fond friend's averted eye? Or who to thy asylum not remove, To lose the wasting anguish of ungrateful love? Can then the wounded wretch, who must deplore What most she loved, to thy cold arms consign'd, Who hears the voice that soothed her soul no more, Fear thee , O Death!--Or hug the chains that bind To joyless, cheerless life, her sick, reluctant mind? Oh, Misery's cure! who e'er in pale dismay Has watch'd the angel form they could not save, And seen their dearest blessing torn away, May well the terrors of thy triumph brave, Nor pause in fearful dread before the opening grave!
Charlotte Turner Smith’s other poems:
- Sonnet 61. ILL-Omen’d Bird! Whose Cries Portentous Float
- Sonnet 67. On Passing Over A Dreary Tract
- Sonnet 45. On Leaving A Part Of Sussex
- Sonnet 42. Composed During a Walk
- Sonnet 63. The Gossamer
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