Adieu to My Patrons

Miss Porden

Adieu my patrons kind, adieu,
 Till winter shall her reign resume
Tho’ no bright tints her vestments shew,
 And cheerless is her leafless gloom.
Oh how I prize her sombre hue
 Above the summer’s lavish bloom,
Her gloom is cheered by wit’s bright eye,
And friendship’s flowers her wants apply.

In vain may richest tints adorn
 The rose in summer beauty drest,
Each rose to me is but a thorn
 That rankles in my wounded breast.
In vain “the breezy call” of morn,
 May joyful rouse you from your rest
It wakes not me, supine I lie,
Or waken, but to breathe a sigh.

In vain the “incense breathing” gale
 May all Arabia’s sweets dispense,
No sweets to me its wings exhale
 But sicken my revolting sense.
E’en autumn’s fruits nectarious fail
 To give me joy, I bid them hence,
And all the songsters of the grove,
In my sad heart no pleasure move.

But when the winter’s driving rain,
 Bids all from woodland scenes retire
Oh then I breathe, I wake again,
 I seize anew my idle lyre
And pour in many a varied strain
 Song that Apollo might inspire,
I joy the wintry blast to hear,
The storm is music to my ear.

Then listening to my songs of joy
 Gay youths and blooming damsels move
New light I lend the sparkling eye
 And fan the trembling flame of love.
I rule the hour, bid sorrow fly,
 And every heart new pleasure prove
And mirth directs without control
The social banquet of the soul.

So have I reign’d, and hope has said
 That so once more your Chest shall reign
The care of every Attic maid,
 The joy of every Attic swain.
Yet with unwonted fear I dread
 Lest time should make her promise vain
The opening buds of hope should tear
And leave the canker of despair.

On you I call, whose tuneful lyres
 Have raised me to my present fame
Have often fanned my fading fires
 And fed my bold aspiring flame
On you whilst loveliest hope inspires
 Still undismayed I rest my claim
From sad oblivion and neglect
Your long loved casket to protect.

If e’er in you my tuneful spell
 Waked pleasure’s smile or pity’s sigh
If e’er fond memory loved to dwell
 On guiltless scenes of Attic joy
When the glad heart rang sorrow’s knell
 And sparkled every brilliant eye,
By them I call, Oh! once again
Revive my Antient Splendid reign.