Penny Dreadfuls, 1812 · page 182 of 258
Psyche, and other poems — page 182: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a page of running prose containing a poem dated November 18, 1799, and marked "Written at Rossana." The poem addresses someone who has carelessly plucked the last flower of winter from its humble bank. It laments the destruction of this delicate bloom, which had survived storms, and urges the rash hand to instead cherish what little beauty remains in "faded life"—particularly domestic love and contentment. The verse employs Romantic conventions of nature, loss, and moral reflection typical of late 18th-century sentimental literature.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
ib4 a WRITTEN AT ROSSANA. November 18, 1799. orn Ou, my rash hand! what hast thou idly done? Torn from its humble bank the last poor flower _ That patient lingered to this wintery hour: Expanding cheerly to the languid sun _ It flourished yet, and yet it might have blown, Had not thy sudden desolating power ; Destroyed what many a storm and angry shower Had pitying spared. The pride of summer gone, | _ Cherish what yet in faded life can bloom ; And if domestic love still sweetly smiles, if sheltered by thy cot he yet beguiles Thy winter’s prospect of its dreary gloom, Oh, from the spoiler’s touch thy treasure screen, ‘To bask beneath Contentment’s beam serene! — CORnMIE DOO KS nena)