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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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ODE to HEALTH.
  
  
 I. 
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 III. 
 IV. 
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ODE to HEALTH.

INSCRIBED TO The Right Hon. EARL OF CHARLEMOUNT.
Health, who fann'st with breezy Wing
The genial Bosom of the Earth;
Who summon'st forth the green-rob'd Spring,
And giv'st the silken Flow'ret Birth!
With laughing Eye, and rosy Hue,
And Hairs that shed ambrosial Dew,
Thy flowing Garments unconfin'd,
In frolick Dance, and sprightly Measures,
Thou lead'st the buxom Loves, and Pleasures,
Giving Sorrow to the Wind.

189

With active Step, before thee hies,
For ever brisk, for ever gay,
The Village Swain, rude Exercise,
Whose Cheeks contemn the sunny Ray:
In his Hand he bears the Spoil,
Earn'd with wholesome Sweat and Toil;
And from his Waist depends the Horn;
The Horn, with whose enlivening Sound
He rouses the loud-mouthed Hound,
And chearly greets the slumbering Morn.
Chaste Temperance, too, adorns thy Train,
That loves to diet with the Poor;
And Chearfulness, with Brow serene,
That opes the early Shepherd's Door:
To Heaven's own Favourites only sent,
With dove-like Air, comes sweet Content;
Before her fly Disease, and Strife;
Around unnumber'd Blessings spring;
Serene, she waves her Halcyon Wing,
And stills the troubled Sea of Life.
On the May-morn at the Green
Where they foot the festal Dance,
When Echo hails the Summer Queen,
And Envy leers with backward Glance,
To Health the Nymph directs her Prayer,
Lest Sickness her fair Form impair,
Or Spells of not less hurtful Kind;
Lest on her Cheek the Damask fade,
False Thyrsis kiss some ruddier Maid,
And give his Promise to the Wind.

190

The chearful Hind, who seldom fails
With early Song to greet the Dawn,
Thy Fragrance with the Breeze inhales;
And tracks thee o'er the dewy Lawn;
When late at Eve-tide he returns
For him the chearful Fuel burns,
And a pure Meal his Toil repays;
Around his lusty Offspring sports,
His Kiss the buxom Phillis courts,
And, blessing thee, he sleeps at Ease.
At Ease thy Favourite lays him down,
Sees Conquest spread her Wings in vain,
The Victor faint beneath his Crown,
And tears the pageant Shew profane:
From smoaky Towns, and gilded Courts,
To where the Sunday Hamlet sports,
Health Hand in Hand with Temperance flies:
In vain, alas! the Fee's bestow'd,
Pale Luxury sinks beneath the Load,
And Pain the Force of Herbs defies.
In the trying Hour of Pain,
The Head, with Weight of Woe reclin'd,
Happy they, who still retain
The Front compos'd, the unruffled Mind!
They only know such heart-felt Ease,
Who count by virtuous Acts their Days;
Whose open Hands unsparing give;
Who view Distress with pitying Eye;
Who dare, like Charlemount, to die,
And know, like Charlemount, to live.

191

Ah! Source of Life, fair Health, arise;
Let Virtue hang the Head no more;
And, to a Nation's longing Eyes,
A grateful Nation's Boast restore:
Come, rosy Health, and with thee bring
Large Draughts of Hebe's living Spring,
The Spring that bathing Angels use;
Here, here, alas! pale Virtue lies—
Here, what thy richest Store supplies,
As generous as himself, diffuse.
So shall fair Alma's grateful Choir
Salute thee with an annual Lay;
So shall the Bard attune his Lyre,
When Hand in Hand you dance with May.
Where Mirth, and Chearfulness, abide,
That ne'er leave Innocence's Side;
Where Temperance sups on chastest Fare;
Where eye-compos'd Contentment smiles,
And Wit, that Pain itself beguiles;
Even there should rosy Health repair.
 

Milton.