The Harp of Erin :: :: University of Virginia Library

Partitions twain this motley cave divide,
Form'd like the ivory doors of fabled fame;
Chimæra's beauteous crowd the left-hand side,
And angel promises of loveliest frame;
There every wight ideal sees his aim,
With flying coyness his rash heart deride:
Yet hopes he (fool!) to catch the glitt'ring toy,
And gain it with a fresh recruit of pride.
In vain, the fairy meteors soon destroy
His bosom-rest serene, and mar each lively joy.

So through the horrid length of bog and mire,
Doth Ignis Fatuus lead the weary hind,
Catching his simple eye with fatal fire,
And lulling with deceit his honest mind:
But soon doth he the hard-earn'd diff'rence find;
Meand'ring labyrinths his footstep tire,
Unholy figures gambol 'fore his sight,
Sprinkling fell mildew, while the tempest's sire

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Pipes horrible the gloomy dirge of night,
And shakes the turrets round, with fierce and wild affright.

Thus bard, who trusts the former cave will thrive,
For soon a trap-door swallows him below,
There the poor credulous wretch must ever live,
And bear the stings of penury and woe:
Like image, playful children mould in snow,
Fade his bright hopes and can no more survive;
Despair stands ever near; ah! ruthless fiend,
With iron fang the harrow'd breast to rive;
And still the demon prompts a sudden end,
And smiles with sallow cheek, and arrogates the friend.

Here dol'rous shadows stalk across the gloom,
And sweep their moody harps with frantic hand;
Hoar-headed minstrels burst the mould'ring tomb,
And roam sad-hearted here! a hapless band!
Still rancour with severest reprimand,
Doth vex them sore, and justifies their doom;
The canker care their bloomy garland taints,
And breathes pollution o'er the sweet perfume;
Lo! while young Poesy, soft virgin, faints,
The wolf-eyed spirits yell, and goad the suffering saints.

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Here Mulla's minstrel, sweetest Spencer, roves,
And warbles heav'nly his dejected lay;
Too tender Otway seeks the baleful groves;
And laureat Dryden shuns Detraction's day.
But lo! yon infant soul that fades away!
Erst once so sprightly with the laughing loves;
Why does he walk with melancholy pace,
And sullen eye, that mocks the gay alcoves?
Why does he turn aside his angry face,
And shun of fellow-guests, unkind, the pathway trace?

No more, my Muse, lest Patronage should hear,
And hurl thee headlong to her darksome den;
Phœbus, just now, check'd harsh my wrathful ear,
And bade, beware the varying hearts of men;
Should all desert my humble head, what then?
Illustrious fame my volumed praise will rear;
Illustrious fame will spread her thousand wings,
And shed rich glories on my passing bier;
Illustrious fame will tune her silver strings,
And place my honour'd bust 'bove Cæsars, chiefs, and kings.

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Though haughty Burleigh crush'd blithe fancy's son,
Say, whose more godlike name shall longer last?
O! far more glorious than the monarch-crown,
That precious wreath which minstrelsy has placed
On poet's awful brow, sublimely graced.
The diadem with lustrous jewels sown,
Is poorly pilfer'd from the earthy mine;
But Fancy's fair judicious hand alone,
Hath gem'd the tuneful braid with buds divine,
Which shall for ever more with hue ambrosial shine.

Chatterton.