The Harp of Erin Containing the Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Dermody. In Two Volumes |
 | I. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
|
|
 | The Harp of Erin |  |
Nor was thy genius that which rais'd thy name,
Fame crown'd thee high whilst thou didst shrink from fame;
Thine was unbroken friendship's link divine,
Honour unblam'd, and gen'rous bounty thine;
The fervent tear that pity bade to flow,
The feeling breast that bled at alien woe;
The simple worth, relieving, as by stealth,
The scorn of title, and the scorn of wealth,
Proclaim'd thy heart on heav'n's sublimest plan,
And even the artist sunk beneath the man!
Witness, poor Goldsmith, by thy favour rais'd,
At once rewarded, comforted, and prais'd;
Witness his grateful spirit, hov'ring here
To greet thy coming with a tender tear.
Sweet bard of auburn! lift thy pensive head,
Thine hours of grief are gone—on this blest shore
Aye shalt thou soothe thy friend with genuine lore,
United living, and united dead!
What mien majestic hurries through the shade,
In all the pomp of excellence array'd,
Flashes his bright eye through the gleam around,
And hark! shrill fairy measures sound,
'Tis Garrick—followed by his Shakspeare's train,
Garrick, who, thy admirable draught,
Seems more than mortal, as a marvel left
For noble souls to startle at, below.
Peace to thy manes! Virtue's lip, on earth
Thy praise shall breathe, and Time, his ruthless scythe
Lay by, astonish'd at thy wond'rous works!”
Fame crown'd thee high whilst thou didst shrink from fame;
Thine was unbroken friendship's link divine,
Honour unblam'd, and gen'rous bounty thine;
The fervent tear that pity bade to flow,
The feeling breast that bled at alien woe;
The simple worth, relieving, as by stealth,
The scorn of title, and the scorn of wealth,
Proclaim'd thy heart on heav'n's sublimest plan,
And even the artist sunk beneath the man!
Witness, poor Goldsmith, by thy favour rais'd,
At once rewarded, comforted, and prais'd;
Witness his grateful spirit, hov'ring here
To greet thy coming with a tender tear.
Sweet bard of auburn! lift thy pensive head,
239
Aye shalt thou soothe thy friend with genuine lore,
United living, and united dead!
What mien majestic hurries through the shade,
In all the pomp of excellence array'd,
Flashes his bright eye through the gleam around,
And hark! shrill fairy measures sound,
'Tis Garrick—followed by his Shakspeare's train,
Garrick, who, thy admirable draught,
Seems more than mortal, as a marvel left
For noble souls to startle at, below.
Peace to thy manes! Virtue's lip, on earth
Thy praise shall breathe, and Time, his ruthless scythe
Lay by, astonish'd at thy wond'rous works!”
| The Harp of Erin | |