Ann Radcliffe (9th July, 1764 – 7th February, 1823)
When first the vernal morn of life,
Beam’d on my infant eye,
Fond I survey’d the smiling scene,
Nor saw the tempest nigh,
Hope’s bright illusions touch’d my soul,
My yound ideas led;
And Fancy’s vivid tints combine’d,
And fairy prospects spread.
My guileless heart expanded wide,
With filial fondness fraught;
Paternal love that heart supplied
With all its fondness sought.
But O! the cruel, quick reverse!
Fate all I lov’d involv’d;
Pale Grief Hope’s trembling rays dispers’d,
And Fancy’s dreams dissolv’d.