Lines Addressed to Lady Byron.

Cockle, Mary.

Alfredo Santa Cruz, -- creation of electronic text.

Electronic edition 7Kb
Copyright, British Women Romantic Poets Project
Shields Library, University of California, Davis, California 95616
I.D. No. CockMLines

This may be copied freely by individuals for personal use, research, and teaching (including distribution to classes) as long as this statement of availability is included in the text. It may be linked to by internet editions of all kinds.

Scholars interested in changing or adding to these texts by, for example, creating a new edition of the text (electronically or in print) with substantive editorial changes, may do so with the permission of the publisher. This is the case whether the new publication will be made available at a cost or free of charge.

This text may not be not be reproduced as a commercial or non-profit product, in print or from an information server.

Available at:

Davis British Women Romantic Poets Series

I.D. No. 52
Nancy Kushigian, -- General Editor
Charlotte Payne, -- Managing Editor

Lines addressed to Lady Byron

Cockle, Mary

Printed by S. Hodgson
Newcastle upon Tyne :

[This text was scanned from its original in the Shields Library Kohler Collection, University of California, Davis. Kohler ID no. I:236. Another copy available on microfilm as Kohler I:236mf.]

The editors thank the Shields Library, University of California, Davis, for its support for this project.

Purchase of software has been made possible by a research grant from the Librarians' Association of the University of California, Davis chapter.

All poems, line groups, and lines are represented. All material originally typeset has been preserved, with the exception of running heads, the original prose line breaks, signature markings and decorative typographical elements. Page numbers and page breaks have been preserved. Pencilled annotations and other damage to the text have not been preserved.

low resolution title page
View Larger Image (67K)

[Title Page]

Page [1]





Page [2]

Page [3]


WHEN suffering virtue heaves the secret sigh,
Or turns to heav'n alone the imploring eye,
And, in the agony of struggling woe,
Bids the full tear of silent sorrow flow,
Ask where's the heart, that is not prompt to share
The wife's chaste sorrow, and the mother's care?
Or where the breast, that is not quick to prove
Its genuine sympathy with wounded love?

Page 4

But ah! if sympathy alone can claim
The sigh, the tear that trembles at thy name,
Ask what that stronger sympathy must be
From one, who suffers--mourns and weeps, like Thee ,
O'er marriage vows, dissolv'd as soon as tied--
Like thine dissolv'd ere scarcely ratified;
Who gives (perhaps, like Thee,) one pleading pray'r,
For erring Nature in its weakness here--
Or bends, unseen, to heav'n the suppliant knee,
For the frail child of poor mortality--
Yet ah! how keen that pang of sharpest woe,
The pang of answering grief alone can know,
In whose comparison all ills are less,
Or but as dreams , disturb'd, of happiness:--
Yet turn to heav'n again the tearful eye--
There shalt thou learn to hush affliction's sigh,
And thence with tried --with trusting faith confess,
The hand that wounds hath also power to bless.

Page 5

He hides his mercies from our feeble eyes,
Or clothes them oft in sorrow's dark disguise,
To fix our trembling hopes and wishes there,
Beyond the influence of this little sphere,
And make us feel, beneath his chast'ning rod,
Though bow'd to earth, yet lifted to OUR GOD .
Can He, who bids the stormy waves subside,
In its wild ragings, stays th' impetuous tide,
Sees clouds, and storms--obedient to his will,
His great commands--his high behests fulfil,
Shall he not bid the bosom's tempest cease,
And, in this stronger conflict, whisper peace?
Ah! turn to where in opening beauty gay,
Blooms the sweet rose-bud of thy blighted May;
No chilling winds shall bow her little form,
Rear'd on thy bosom--shelter'd from life's storm;
But rich in promis'd charms this flower shall live
With ev'ry care, thy guardian hand can give--

Page 6

And, though awhile the passing tempest lours,
Shed its pure fragrance o'er thy wintry hours--
Veil, with its blushing beauty, sorrow's dart,
And twine, exulting, round a mother's heart;--
Recall the graces of her happier morn--
And bloom for her--ONE Rose without its Thorn.