The Harp of Erin Containing the Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Dermody. In Two Volumes |
 | I. |
GENIUS EXCUSED. |
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| II. |
 | The Harp of Erin |  |
64
GENIUS EXCUSED.
Wounded by severest scorn,
His fir'd soul flashing o'er his face,
Mid the cheerless waste forlorn,
Mark yon stripling's way ward pace:
Often though he heaves a sigh,
Inspiration's in his eye.
His fir'd soul flashing o'er his face,
Mid the cheerless waste forlorn,
Mark yon stripling's way ward pace:
Often though he heaves a sigh,
Inspiration's in his eye.
Must the meanest lieir of gold
Riot in sublime excess;
And that bosom, never cold,
No unenvied transport bless;
He at best, degraded boy,
Doom'd to steal a sickly joy?
Riot in sublime excess;
And that bosom, never cold,
No unenvied transport bless;
He at best, degraded boy,
Doom'd to steal a sickly joy?
Could he sing the feats of wine,
And never taste the purple stream?
Could he paint the bliss divine,
Nor beauty gild his glowing dream?
Restriction hence! no pedant art
Can match the science of the heart.
And never taste the purple stream?
Could he paint the bliss divine,
Nor beauty gild his glowing dream?
Restriction hence! no pedant art
Can match the science of the heart.
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When these sapient saws expire,
And slumber with old sages past;
When these frigid rules retire,
Like autumn's leaf before the blast;
When their memory is flown,
Taste shall claim him for her own.
And slumber with old sages past;
When these frigid rules retire,
Like autumn's leaf before the blast;
When their memory is flown,
Taste shall claim him for her own.
“Often,” will tradition say,
“Near yon spot of sacred green,
When Twilight wav'd her banner grey,
Did we note his museful mien;
Now conversing with the air,
Sunk anon in dumb despair.
“Near yon spot of sacred green,
When Twilight wav'd her banner grey,
Did we note his museful mien;
Now conversing with the air,
Sunk anon in dumb despair.
“Strew your vernal tribute round;
Round your fading flowrets strew;
Pity, consecrate the ground
Where sleeps a breast to pity true:
So shall Genius' humble grave
Boast the honours once he gave.”
Round your fading flowrets strew;
Pity, consecrate the ground
Where sleeps a breast to pity true:
So shall Genius' humble grave
Boast the honours once he gave.”
| The Harp of Erin | |