<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355523" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Verses I</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">O'ERWHELM'D with sorrow, and sustaining long<br>'The proud man's contumely, th' oppressor's wrong,'<br>Languid despondency, and vain regret,<br>Must my exhausted spirit struggle yet?<br>Yes!--Robb'd myself of all that fortune gave,<br>Even of all hope--but shelter in the grave,<br>Still shall the plaintive lyre essay its powers<br>To dress the cave of Care with Fancy's flowers,<br>Maternal Love the fiend Despair withstand,<br>Still animate the heart and guide the hand.<br>--May you, dear objects of my anxious care,<br>Escape the evils I was born to bear!<br>Round my devoted head while tempests roll,<br>Yet there, where I have treasured up my soul,<br>May the soft rays of dawning hope impart<br>Reviving patience to my fainting heart;--<br>And when its sharp solicitudes shall cease,<br>May I be conscious in the realms of peace<br>That every tear which swells my children's eyes,<br>From sorrows past, not present ills arise,<br>Then, with some friend who loves to share your pain,<br>For 'tis my boast that some such friends remain,<br>By filial grief, and fond remembrance prest,<br>You'll seek the spot where all my sorrows rest;<br>Recall my hapless days in sad review<br>The long calamities I bore for you,<br>And, with a happier fate, resolve to prove<br>How well you merited your mother's love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charlotte+Smith">Charlotte Smith</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355523" data-title="Verses I de Charlotte Smith" data-description="O'ERWHELM'D with sorrow, and sustaining long 'The proud man's contumely, th' oppressor's wrong,' Languid despondency, and vain regret, Must my exhausted spirit struggle yet? Yes!--Robb'd myself of all that fortune gave, Even of all hope--but shelt..."></div> </div> </div>

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