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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| VALESUS: AN ECLOGUE. |
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 | The Shamrock |  |
268
VALESUS: AN ECLOGUE.
Illum etiam Lauri, illum etiam flevere Myricæ.
Virg. Ecl. x.
Virg. Ecl. x.
Moeris, and Thyrsus, who, at early Dawn,
Were wont to join their Flocks upon the Lawn,
And, chearful, o'er the dewy Herbage stray,
And sing, or chat, and view their Lambkins play;
Now, late at Eve, beneath an ancient Oak,
Whose writhen Boughs had felt the stormy Stroke,
Met, silent long with heart-oppressing Pain,
'Till Thyrsus first bespoke his Fellow-Swain.
Were wont to join their Flocks upon the Lawn,
And, chearful, o'er the dewy Herbage stray,
And sing, or chat, and view their Lambkins play;
Now, late at Eve, beneath an ancient Oak,
Whose writhen Boughs had felt the stormy Stroke,
Met, silent long with heart-oppressing Pain,
'Till Thyrsus first bespoke his Fellow-Swain.
Why thus o'erclouded? We, that wont to meet
With joyful Looks of Salutation sweet?
O vain Demand! I read the sad Reply,
Too plain, alas! too certain in thine Eye;
One Fate, one mutual Loss, we both deplore;
O Fears fulfill'd! Valesus is no more!
With joyful Looks of Salutation sweet?
O vain Demand! I read the sad Reply,
Too plain, alas! too certain in thine Eye;
One Fate, one mutual Loss, we both deplore;
O Fears fulfill'd! Valesus is no more!
269
Valesus is no more! the Swain reply'd:
With him the Spring hath lost its wonted Pride;
The Primrose withers, ere its Bloom is spread;
Narcissus, humbler, hangs his drooping Head;
The sickening Sun neglects his famish'd Flowers,
With sable Brow the sorrowing Welkin lowers:
Weep on, ye Fields; nor let your Tears be dry'd.
By chearing Suns, nor wear your vernal Pride;
Be clad, ye Skies, 'till wintry Age returns,
In mournful Sable; for, Valesa mourns.
Ah, Thyrsus, had you seen the widow'd Fair,
When, as her Bosom caught the silent Tear,
She sooth'd her tender. Young with stifled Groan,
And chid their Sorrows, and betray'd her own;
Then sudden to sequester'd Shades withdrew,
Where mixing Cypress-meets the mournful Yew—
Each Blast was hush'd, the vocal Forest slept,
And Philomel sat silent, while she wept.
With him the Spring hath lost its wonted Pride;
The Primrose withers, ere its Bloom is spread;
Narcissus, humbler, hangs his drooping Head;
The sickening Sun neglects his famish'd Flowers,
With sable Brow the sorrowing Welkin lowers:
Weep on, ye Fields; nor let your Tears be dry'd.
By chearing Suns, nor wear your vernal Pride;
Be clad, ye Skies, 'till wintry Age returns,
In mournful Sable; for, Valesa mourns.
Ah, Thyrsus, had you seen the widow'd Fair,
When, as her Bosom caught the silent Tear,
She sooth'd her tender. Young with stifled Groan,
And chid their Sorrows, and betray'd her own;
Then sudden to sequester'd Shades withdrew,
Where mixing Cypress-meets the mournful Yew—
Each Blast was hush'd, the vocal Forest slept,
And Philomel sat silent, while she wept.
‘Here, then, at least, shall Sorrow sow its Cares:
‘Ye dearest Pledges! guiltless of your Tears;
‘Far utter'd, far from you, the Sounds shall die,
‘Nor Grief infect you with a Mother's Sigh:
‘Ye Bowers alone be Partners of my Woe;
‘Now, all uncultur'd shall your Branches grow;
‘The Bramble, now, and pointed Thorn combin'd,
‘And Thistle rude, will fret your tender Rind;
‘And Thistles, too, my budding Vines may wound,
‘Now, from their fond Support by Storms unbound,
‘Like you, of Culture, and of Care bereft,
‘No Gardener with the little Nurslings left,
‘No loving, cautious Hand to guide their Growth,
‘And prune, and prop the tender Branch of Youth
‘Ye Birds, that lonely wander through the Grove,
‘Haply, like me, ye mourn your ravish'd Love:
‘No more shall he return with Evening Food,
‘Hang o'er the Nest, and kiss his callow Brood;
‘No longer sooth your Sleep, at setting Day,
‘With Notes love-labour'd from the neighbouring Spray:
‘In vain ye watch, and think his Absence long;
‘Alas! the Spoiler's Hand hath quench'd his Song.
‘O Love, from my Embrace thus rudely wrench'd,
‘How is my Bliss in one sad Moment quench'd!
‘With thee, rejoic'd the sprightly Morn arose;
‘And sweet, with thee, was Evening's gentle Close:
‘Thy Song was softer than the Linnet's Lay,
‘Thy Voice like Zephyr when he breathes on May;
‘Thy Converse milder than the cool Retreat
‘That wont to shade us in the Noon-tide Heat:
‘Now, Morn, and Eve, and Noon, unnotic'd fleet,
‘A Heap of Time, depriv'd of every Sweet.
‘Now, shall I see the Pledges of our Love,
‘A Flock unfenc'd through pathless Desarts rove;
‘Their Shepherd gone, like frighted Lambs they shake,
‘And dread the Wolf in every rustling Brake:
‘Haste, my Valesus, hasten to thy Charge,
‘Night comes apace, and Foxes roam at large;
‘Come, house thy shivering Young from Midnight bleak,
‘The Spring is tardy, and thy Lambkins weak;
‘Frightful, of late, the Northern Blasts have howl'd;
‘Their infant Fleeces ill defend the Cold—
‘Ah me! thyself art colder still than they;
‘Dark is thy Lodging, and thy Bed of Clay.’
‘Ye dearest Pledges! guiltless of your Tears;
‘Far utter'd, far from you, the Sounds shall die,
‘Nor Grief infect you with a Mother's Sigh:
‘Ye Bowers alone be Partners of my Woe;
‘Now, all uncultur'd shall your Branches grow;
‘The Bramble, now, and pointed Thorn combin'd,
‘And Thistle rude, will fret your tender Rind;
‘And Thistles, too, my budding Vines may wound,
‘Now, from their fond Support by Storms unbound,
‘Like you, of Culture, and of Care bereft,
‘No Gardener with the little Nurslings left,
‘No loving, cautious Hand to guide their Growth,
‘And prune, and prop the tender Branch of Youth
270
‘Haply, like me, ye mourn your ravish'd Love:
‘No more shall he return with Evening Food,
‘Hang o'er the Nest, and kiss his callow Brood;
‘No longer sooth your Sleep, at setting Day,
‘With Notes love-labour'd from the neighbouring Spray:
‘In vain ye watch, and think his Absence long;
‘Alas! the Spoiler's Hand hath quench'd his Song.
‘O Love, from my Embrace thus rudely wrench'd,
‘How is my Bliss in one sad Moment quench'd!
‘With thee, rejoic'd the sprightly Morn arose;
‘And sweet, with thee, was Evening's gentle Close:
‘Thy Song was softer than the Linnet's Lay,
‘Thy Voice like Zephyr when he breathes on May;
‘Thy Converse milder than the cool Retreat
‘That wont to shade us in the Noon-tide Heat:
‘Now, Morn, and Eve, and Noon, unnotic'd fleet,
‘A Heap of Time, depriv'd of every Sweet.
‘Now, shall I see the Pledges of our Love,
‘A Flock unfenc'd through pathless Desarts rove;
‘Their Shepherd gone, like frighted Lambs they shake,
‘And dread the Wolf in every rustling Brake:
‘Haste, my Valesus, hasten to thy Charge,
‘Night comes apace, and Foxes roam at large;
‘Come, house thy shivering Young from Midnight bleak,
‘The Spring is tardy, and thy Lambkins weak;
271
‘Their infant Fleeces ill defend the Cold—
‘Ah me! thyself art colder still than they;
‘Dark is thy Lodging, and thy Bed of Clay.’
While, all desponding, thus she sigh'd her Cares,
And mix'd her Grief with Evening's dewy Tears,
The sickly Moon, from yonder Mountain's Head,
O'er her pale Cheek a paler Sadness spread;
The hollow-breathing Groves return'd her Sighs;
The watery Pleiads clos'd their weeping Eyes;
Lull'd by her Plaints, the feather'd Warblers slept,
And, mournful in their Dreams, responsive wept.
THYRSUS.And mix'd her Grief with Evening's dewy Tears,
The sickly Moon, from yonder Mountain's Head,
O'er her pale Cheek a paler Sadness spread;
The hollow-breathing Groves return'd her Sighs;
The watery Pleiads clos'd their weeping Eyes;
Lull'd by her Plaints, the feather'd Warblers slept,
And, mournful in their Dreams, responsive wept.
Enough, my Moeris, cease thy moving Strain;
Valesa's Grief is shar'd by every Swain:
Oft, in these Vales, each Shepherd shall record
The Looks benign, the Bounties of their Lord;
Could Sorrow sow Compassion in the Tomb
And make the blasted Grass of Life to bloom,
Each Bosom should with Prayers unweary'd sigh,
And Tears incessant flow from every Eye:
But, Dews sink fruitless in the burning Sand;
Clouds moisten all in vain the briny Strand;
The river-water'd Rock no Pasture bears;
Nor yields the Grave a Harvest to our Tears.
Raise, then, to better Hopes your languid Eyes;
A Ray bursts on me through the sable Skies!
Behold Valesus' Sire in Arms renown'd,
Vigorous in Age, with recent Trophies crown'd,
Stretching to Fame beyond the narrow Span
That erst was deem'd to bound the Reach of Man;
272
The chief-born Pledge of fair Valesa's Ties;
With equal Ardour tread the Paths of Fame;
And share alike his Glory, and his Name.
Behold the Hero catch each kindred Blaze,
His Grandsire's Splendor, and his Uncle's Rays;
From mild Valesa shine with softer Fire,
And kindle every Star that grac'd his Sire.
To gild his rising Fame with early Light,
The changing Year revolves with swifter Flight,
The rapid Months in other Order run,
And Time, impatient, gains upon the Sun.
I see the Youth begin his glorious Race;
Triumphal Shews each rising Annal grace:
Lo! Victory before his Chariot flies;
Breathless beneath its Wheels Rebellion lies;
Astræa guides it with her virgin-Hand;
Peace wreaths his Laurels round her olive Wand;
The Horn of Plenty flows; the Muses smile;
And wafted Sweets reach every British Isle;
Her Floods, her Shores, her echoing Hills rejoice:
Awake, Valesa, hear Britannia's Voice;
Awake; or, if thy Sorrows call for Rest,
Smile, as thou sleep'st, and be in Visions blest.
MOERIS.
Prophetick be thy Lips, prophetick, sure,
So light my Bosom drinks their lenient Cure;
The Streams of Life with wonted Vigour glide;
And the glad Heart receives a warmer Tide.
But, come, while gentle Dreams their Pinions spread
With soft Refreshment o'er Valesa's Head,
273
And distant banish each unhallow'd Sound:
Renew'd with her, the smiling Hours shall rise,
And catch the brightest Omens from her Eyes.
| The Shamrock | |