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The Shamrock

or, Hibernian Cresses. A Collection of Poems, Songs, Epigrams, &c. Latin as well as English, The Original Production of Ireland. To which are subjoined thoughts on the prevailing system of school education, respecting young ladies as well as gentlemen: with practical proposals for a reformation [by Samuel Whyte]

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TWO LOVE ELEGIES.
 I. 
 II. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 I. 
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 III. 
 IV. 
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169

TWO LOVE ELEGIES.

Argelitanas mavis habitare Tabernas,
Cum tibi, parve Liber, Scrinia nostra vacent.
Nescis, heu! nescis Dominæ Fastidia Romæ:
Crede mihi, nimium martia Turba sapit.
Ætherias, lascive, cupis volitare per Auras:
I, fuge; sed poteras tutior esse Domi.
Martial.

ELEGY I.

['Tis Night, dead Night; and o'er the Plain]

'Tis Night, dead Night; and o'er the Plain
Darkness extends her ebon Ray,
While wide along the gloomy Scene
Deep Silence holds her solemn Sway:
Throughout the Earth no chearful Beam
The melancholic Eye surveys,
Save where the Worm's fantastic Gleam
The 'nighted Traveller betrays;

170

The savage Race (so Heaven decrees)
No longer through the Forest rove;
All Nature rests, and not a Breeze
Disturbs the Stillness of the Grove:
All Nature rests; in Sleep's soft Arms
The Village Swain forgets his Care:
Sleep, that the Sting of Sorrow charms,
And heals all Sadness, but Despair:
Despair, alone, her Power denies;
And, when the Sun withdraws his Rays,
To the wild Beach, distracted, flies,
Or, chearless, through the Desart strays.
Or, to the Church-yard's Horrors led,
While fearful Echoes burst around,
On some cold Stone he leans his Head,
Or throws his Body on the Ground.
To some such drear and solemn Scene,
Some friendly Power direct my Way,
Where pale Misfortune's haggard Train,
Sad Luxury! delight to stray:
Wrapp'd in the solitary Gloom,
Retir'd from Life's fantastic Crew,
Resign'd I 'll wait my final Doom,
And bid the busy World adieu.
The World has, now, no Joy for me;
Nor can Life now one Pleasure boast;
Since all my Eyes desir'd to see,
My Wish, my Hope, my All, is lost;

171

Since she, so form'd to please, and bless,
So wise, so innocent, so fair,
Whose Converse sweet made Sorrow less,
And brighten'd all the Gloom of Care,
Since she is lost:—Ye Powers divine!
What have I done, or thought, or said?
O say! what horrid Act of mine,
Has drawn this Vengeance on my Head?
Why should Heaven favour Lycon's Claim?
Why are my Heart's best Wishes crost?
What fairer Deeds adorn his Name?
What nobler Merit can he boast?
What higher Worth in him was found,
My true Heart's Service to outweigh?
A senseless Fop!—a dull Compound
Of scarcely animated Clay!
He dress'd, indeed, he danc'd with Ease,
And charm'd her, by repeating o'er
Unmeaning Raptures in her Praise,
That twenty Fools had said before:
But I, alas! who thought all Art
My Passion's Force would meanly prove,
Could only boast an honest Heart,
And claim'd no Merit but my Love.
Have I not sate—Ye conscious Hours
Be Witness—while my Stella sung,
From Morn to Eve, with all my Powers
Rapt in the Enchantment of her Tongue!

172

Ye conscious Hours, that saw me stand,
Entranc'd in Wonder, and Surprize,
In silent Rapture press her Hand,
With Passion bursting from my Eyes,
Have I not lov'd?—O Earth, and Heaven!
Where, now, is all my youthful Boast?
The dear Exchange I hop'd was given
For slighted Fame, and Fortune lost!
Where, now, the Joys that once were mine?
Where all my Hopes of future Bliss?
Must I those Joys, these Hopes resign?
Is all her Friendship come to this?
Must, then, each Woman faithless prove;
And each fond Lover be undone?
Are Vows no more!—Almighty Love!
The sad Remembrance let me shun!
It will not be—my honest Heart
The dear, sad Image still retains;
And, spight of Reason, spight of Art,
The dreadful Memory remains.
Ye Powers divine, whose wonderous Skill
Deep in the Womb of Time can see,
Behold, I bend me to your Will,
Nor dare arraign your high Decree!
Let her be bless'd with Health, with Ease,
With all your Bounty has in Store;
Let Sorrow cloud my future Days,
Be Stella bless'd!—I ask no more.

173

But lo! where, high in yonder East,
The Star of Morning mounts apace!
Hence—let me fly the unwelcome Guest,
And bid the Muse's Labour cease.

ELEGY II.

[When, young, Life's Journey I began]

When, young, Life's Journey I began,
The glittering Prospect charm'd my Eyes,
I saw along the extended Plan
Joy after Joy successive rise:
And Fame her golden Trumpet blew;
And Power display'd her gorgeous Charms;
And Wealth engag'd my wandering View;
And Pleasure woo'd me to her Arms:
To each, by Turns, my Vows I paid,
As Folly led me to admire;
While Fancy magnify'd each Shade;
And Hope increas'd each fond Desire.
But, soon, I found 'twas all a Dream;
And learn'd the fond Pursuit to shun,
Where few can reach their purpos'd Aim,
And thousands, daily, are undone:

174

And Fame, I found, was empty Air;
And Wealth had Terror for her Guest;
And Pleasure's Path was strewn with Care;
And Power was Vanity at best.
Tir'd of the Chace, I gave it o'er;
And, in a far sequester'd Shade,
To Contemplation's sober Power
My Youth's next Services I paid.
There Health and Peace adorn'd the Scene;
And oft, indulgent to my Prayer,
With mirthful Eye, and frolic Mien,
The Muse would deign to visit there:
There would she oft, delighted, rove
The flower-enamell'd Vale along;
Or wander with me through the Grove,
And listen to the Wood-lark's Song;
Or, 'mid the Forest's awful Gloom,
Whilst wild Amazement fill'd my Eyes,
Recal past Ages from the Tomb,
And bid ideal Worlds arise.
Thus, in the Muse's Favour blest,
One Wish alone my Soul could frame,
And Heaven bestow'd, to crown the Rest,
A Friend, and Thyrsis was his Name.
For manly Constancy, and Truth,
And Worth, unconscious of a Stain,
He bloom'd, the Flower of Britain's Youth,
The Boast and Wonder of the Plain.

175

Still, with our Years, our Friendship grew;
No Cares did then my Peace destroy;
Time brought new Blessings, as he flew;
And every Hour was wing'd with Joy:
But soon the blissful Scene was lost;
Soon did the sad Reverse appear;
Love came, like an untimely Frost,
To blast the Promise of my Year.
I saw young Daphne's Angel Form,
(Fool that I was, I bless'd the Smart)
And, while I gaz'd, nor thought of Harm,
The dear Infection seiz'd my Heart:
She was—at least in Damon's Eyes—
Made up of Loveliness, and Grace;
Her Heart a Stranger to Disguise;
Her Mind as perfect as her Face:
To hear her speak, to see her move,
(Unhappy I, alas! the While)
Her Voice was Joy, her Look was Love,
And Heaven was open'd in her Smile!
She heard me breathe my amorous Prayers,
She listen'd to the tender Strain,
She heard my Sighs, she saw my Tears,
And seem'd, at length, to share my Pain:
She said she lov'd—and I, poor Youth!
(How soon, alas! can Hope persuade!)
Thought all she said no more than Truth,
And all my Love was well repaid.

176

In Joys unknown to Courts, or Kings,
With her I sate the live-long Day,
And said, and look'd such tender Things,
As none beside could look, or say!
How soon can Fortune shift the Scene,
And all our earthly Bliss destroy?—
Care hovers round, and Grief's fell Train
Still treads upon the Heels of Joy.
My Age's Hope, my Youth's best Boast,
My Soul's chief Blessing, and my Pride,
In one sad Moment, all were lost;
And Daphne chang'd; and Thyrsis dy'd.
O, who, that heard her Vows ere-while,
Could dream these Vows were insincere?
Or, who could think, that saw her smile,
That Fraud could find Admittance there?
Yet, she was false!—my Heart will break!
Her Frauds, her Perjuries were such—
Some other Tongue than mine must speak—
I have not Power to say how much!
Ye Swains, hence warn'd, avoid the Bait;
O shun her Paths, the Traitress shun!
Her Voice is Death, her Smile is Fate,
Who hears, or sees her, is undone.
And, when Death's Hand shall close my Eye,
(For soon, I know, the Day will come)
O chear my Spirit with a Sigh;
And grave these Lines upon my Tomb.