The Harp of Erin Containing the Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Dermody. In Two Volumes |
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HYMN TO SOLITUDE. |
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 | The Harp of Erin |  |
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HYMN TO SOLITUDE.
Oh! nymph sedately sweet, whose
solemn smile,
What time the day-star sunk to golden rest,
So often would my hermit-step beguile
To scenes by Fancy's magic finger drest.
What time the day-star sunk to golden rest,
So often would my hermit-step beguile
To scenes by Fancy's magic finger drest.
Whether in fond, luxurious leisure laid,
'Mid the dim covert of some woody waste,
Whose wild uncertainty of waving shade,
Scarce one coy sunbeam, tremblingly, embrac'd;
'Mid the dim covert of some woody waste,
Whose wild uncertainty of waving shade,
Scarce one coy sunbeam, tremblingly, embrac'd;
Or, musing on each pearly drop that fell,
Half pendulous, from some lone Naïad's urn;
Whose waters from the rock would slowly well,
And in their ling'ring lapse melodious mourn.
Half pendulous, from some lone Naïad's urn;
Whose waters from the rock would slowly well,
And in their ling'ring lapse melodious mourn.
What vision'd raptures would my breast embay
In silent bliss, abstractedly refin'd,
'Till in some artless, but energic lay,
Spontaneous burst the free, poetic mind?
In silent bliss, abstractedly refin'd,
'Till in some artless, but energic lay,
Spontaneous burst the free, poetic mind?
Say, shall I ever tread the sacred sod,
Again divinely fir'd with song sublime?
Where, erst, th' enthusiast form of Collins trod,
And the rapt Passions listen'd to his rhyme?
Again divinely fir'd with song sublime?
Where, erst, th' enthusiast form of Collins trod,
And the rapt Passions listen'd to his rhyme?
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Oh! woods and wilds, once vocal to his verse,
Within whose haunts ev'n now, at ev'ning hour,
The green-hair'd sisterhood their dirge rehearse,
And round his low tomb nurse the fading flow'r;
Within whose haunts ev'n now, at ev'ning hour,
The green-hair'd sisterhood their dirge rehearse,
And round his low tomb nurse the fading flow'r;
Shall I not wander through each dusk retreat,
Each dcep-drawn alley, hung with ivy pale,
And mark the tiny print of fairy feet,
And hear soft murmurs die along the vale?
Each dcep-drawn alley, hung with ivy pale,
And mark the tiny print of fairy feet,
And hear soft murmurs die along the vale?
Yes, modest maids, who hat'st the painful glare
Of splendid Folly, and unmeaning Pride,
Still shall we breathe the aromatic air,
That wantons o'er the mountain's flow'ry side:
Of splendid Folly, and unmeaning Pride,
Still shall we breathe the aromatic air,
That wantons o'er the mountain's flow'ry side:
Still to thy serious ear my song shall flow,
My song enamour'd of the rural theme,
Where no rough blasts of loud Ambition blow,
To chase th' illusion of Hope's noontide dream.
My song enamour'd of the rural theme,
Where no rough blasts of loud Ambition blow,
To chase th' illusion of Hope's noontide dream.
| The Harp of Erin | |