American Female Poets [an electronic edition]

SARAH PORTER

Biographical Sketch: Sarah Porter

Published at Concord in 1791, a small volume containing The Royal Penitent, and David's lamentation over Saul and Jonathan. The extract we give is from the first of these poems, where David's remorse for his sin is awakened by sorrow for the death of his child.

THE ROYAL PENITENT'S SELF-IMPRECATION.

Accursed for ever be the hated day,That led my soul from innocence astray; O may the stars on that detested hour Shed all their influence with malignant power; Darkness and sorrow jointly hold their reign, When time, revolving, brings it round again! Ye injured ghosts! break from the silent tomb, In all the fearful pomp of horror come,Breathe out your woes, and hail the dreadful gloom! Why does not injured Israel now arise,Proclaim my madness to the avenging skies, Hurl quick the sceptre from my bloody hand,While marks of infamy my forehead brand?No time shall e'er the dreadful act conceal — No tongue shall fail its horrors to reveal; Eternity upon its strongest wing, Shall bear the deed whence all my sorrows spring.

GRANDEUR FAILS TO GIVE CONTENT.

A GLITTERING crown! thou poor fantastic thing!What solid satisfaction canst thou bring?Once, far removed from all the toils of state,In groves I slept, — no guards around me wait;

Oh! how delicious was the calm retreat! Sweet groves! with birds and various flowers stored, Where nature furnished out my frugal board; The pure and unstained spring my thirst allayed; No poisoned draught, in golden cups conveyed, Was there to dread! Return, ye happy hours, Ye verdant shades, kind nature's pleasing bowers — Inglorious solitude, again return, And heal the breast with pain and anguish torn!

Oh, sweet content! unknown to pomp and kings, The humble rest beneath thy downy wings; The lowly cottage is thy loved retreat, — In vain, thou'rt courted by the rich and great;—In vain, the miser seeks thee in his gold — In vain, each day the glittering store is told; Thou art not there; in vain the ambitious sigh, And seek the joys that still before them fly! The merchant's ship all treasure brings but thee, — You from his anxious bosom ever flee; For thee, the sailor tempts the boist'rous main, And hopes to find thee in his dear-bought gain; For thee, the hero mounts his iron car, And hopes to find thee when returned from war. Their hopes are vain: who wish with thee to dwell Must seek the rural shade, or lonely cell; The gods themselves delight in verdant groves, And shield from harm the innocence they love.