Penny Dreadfuls, 1812 · page 221 of 258
Psyche, and other poems — page 221: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Description This is a page of running verse poetry (page 203) from what appears to be a Victorian narrative poem. The text employs elaborate metaphorical language mixing themes of death, grief, and loss with botanical imagery. It describes a woman who lost her brother to death and subsequently endured hidden suffering, now resting in peace; it then shifts to describing a withered young tree that, despite care and the arrival of spring, cannot revive. The passage concludes by directly addressing someone named Sydney, suggesting their "assiduous care" may offer hope. The ornate, sentimental tone and melodramatic subject matter are consistent with Victorian popular literature.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
203 In playful love, crushed by the sudden storm, And swept to dark oblivion, mid the wreck Of greater hopes !—Even while she thought of bliss, Already o’er that darling brother’s head = The death-commissioned angel noiseless waved His black and heavy wings : and though she mourned That stroke, in pious sorrow, many a year, Yet, even then, the life-consuming shaft In her chaste breast she uncomplaining bore. Now, both at rest, in blessed peacefulness, With no impatient hope, regret, or doubt, Await that full completion of the bliss Which their more perfect spirits shall receive. Fair blossomed her young tree, effusing sweet its aromatic breath ; for other eyes Blushed the soft folded buds, and other hands » Pruned its luxuriant branches : friendship still Preserved the fond memorial; nay, even yet Would fain preserve with careful tenderness The blighted relic of what once it loved. Hard were the wintry hours felt even here ~ Amid these green protecting walls, and late The timid Spring, oft chilled and rudely checked, At last unveiled her tenderest charms, and smiled With radiant blushes on her amorous train : But no reviving gale, no fruitful dew, Visits the brown parched leaf, or from the stem, The withering stem, elicits the young shoots With hopes of life and beauty, yet thy care Perhaps, dear Sydney, thine assiduous care conicloooks.com