Mary Anne Browne
Mary Anne Browne Poems
Monarch of mountains! in thy cloudy robe,
Thou sit'st secure upon thy craggy throne,
Seeming to lord it over half the globe,
...
My Harp had long hung on a withering tree,-
The snow lay around it, and loud howl'd the blast ;
...
Oh ! how I love to stand on some high rock,
And gaze upon the foaming wild abyss
Of Ocean - all unshaken by the shock
...
Oh, believe not, my dearest, I ever could leave thee,
Or cause thee to weep when life sinks in decay ;
...
Oh, why say that Woman is faithless and light,
And that wisdom alone to thy sex is confined ;
That her heart is as false as her beauty is bright,
...
Martyr to genius ! rude misfortune's blast
Oft sear'd thee, as thy lowly cot it pass'd ;-
The threatening tempests darkly o'er thee gloom'd,
...
THOU art my strength, Thou great and holy God!
Almighty and all-merciful! Thy hand
Hath guided me when tremblingly I trod,
...
THE world was still, not sleeping—for an awe
Was over all the earth— the eyes of men,
What their dim spirits could not gaze on, saw,
...
She sleeps within a blooming bower,
And around her is many a summer flower,
And the fragrant winds that wander there
...
And can'st thou believe that my passion has perish'd,
Tho' the torrent that first overwhelm'd me is gone :
...
'Twas the Eve of St. Mark, and she stood by the church,
And gazed with undaunted eye
On the ruin'd form of the ancient porch,
...
Lay me not 'neath a stately pile,
Proudly 'mid others rising ;
Bury me not in the fretted vault ;-
They are below my prizing: -
...
Hast thou not seen when winter hath bound
In icy chains the river;
When not a flower adorn'd the ground,
And nature seem'd sleeping for ever;
...
Nay ;-ask not for a mirthful air,-
I ne'er will sing of joy again ;
Dejected-driven to despair-
As I for ever must remain ;
...
Nay ;- do not strive to check my tears,
But let them flow unheeded on ; -
The cherish'd hope of future years,
The being I adored is gone.
...
And can it be true, that thy pure happy spirit
Hath fled from these regions of darkness and death,
In the beautiful mansions of light to inherit
...
The Best Poem Of Mary Anne Browne
Hebrews Xi. 1.
Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
FAIR maiden! who art thou?
Who, with uplifted brow,
And folded hands, and robes of spotless white,
And eyes of heaven's own hue,
Serenely, purely blue,
Stand'st clearly imaged to my mental sight?
What! faded thus away!
Could'st thou, bright form! decay?
Vision, thou'rt changed; but in thy resting place,
Upon my very heart,
Still fixed and bound thou art,
Written by God's finger, there thy name I trace.
Faith! comforter and friend!
Who dost my steps attend,
Holding up Hope, when droop her quivering wings;
Speaking in cheering tone,
And pointing fondly on,
Unto the realm of glorious unseen things.
Sweet witness! thou art sent
Where weary hearts have bent,
And wavered in their trust, to tell of bliss,
Of holiness, and joy,
That time can ne'er destroy,
Of love, that true, and pure, and perfect is.
The image of a star,
Brightening the waves afar;
The scent that breathes from hidden violets forth;
To such we liken thee,
Thou glorious mystery!
Who cheer'st so many hearts that dwell on earth.
A bird from some far scene,
Where we have never been,
Singing a strange, and sweet, and soothing song;
That seems as if the rills,
And low winds of the hills,
Were in its soft, rich numbers borne along.
So into hearts below,
Thy melodies may flow,
Soothing them into dreams of thine own shore;
Where, homewards following thee,
Thy birth-place they shall see,
Nor wish to linger in this cold world more.
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