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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VERSES To Miss ELEANOR WOOD.
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 | The Shamrock |  |
343
VERSES To Miss ELEANOR WOOD.
Yes, charming Sylvia, I will sing
Of Cupid, and his purple Wing;
At your Command, the Verse shall run
Sacred to Venus and her Son.
Of Cupid, and his purple Wing;
At your Command, the Verse shall run
Sacred to Venus and her Son.
I'll sing the sly, engaging Arts,
With which he robs us of our Hearts;
And how the laughing Sylvia joins
Receiving what the Rogue purloins,
And adding to his Hoard of Arms
The Artillery of all her Charms;
And how you both in Triumph go,
The Pride of Mankind, and their Foe.
With which he robs us of our Hearts;
And how the laughing Sylvia joins
Receiving what the Rogue purloins,
And adding to his Hoard of Arms
The Artillery of all her Charms;
And how you both in Triumph go,
The Pride of Mankind, and their Foe.
I'll sing your blue, attractive Eye;
Your Cheek where rival Roses vie;
I'll sing that Bosom snowy white,
The blissful Seat of young Delight;
The balmy Fragrance of your Breath;
Your coral Lips, and pearly Teeth;
Your polish'd Neck, your auburn Hair;
Your Dignity and matchless Air.
Your Cheek where rival Roses vie;
I'll sing that Bosom snowy white,
The blissful Seat of young Delight;
The balmy Fragrance of your Breath;
Your coral Lips, and pearly Teeth;
Your polish'd Neck, your auburn Hair;
Your Dignity and matchless Air.
The Note yet higher still I'll raise;
For what I have sung is scarcely Praise;
'Tis but what every idle Swain
Sings to his Mistress on the Plain;
'Tis but the daily Food of Time,
And hardly worth a Lover's Rhyme,
A Lover, who adores, like me,
A Maid so elegant as thee.
For what I have sung is scarcely Praise;
344
Sings to his Mistress on the Plain;
'Tis but the daily Food of Time,
And hardly worth a Lover's Rhyme,
A Lover, who adores, like me,
A Maid so elegant as thee.
Then smile upon my Verse, while I
Record those Charms that cannot die;
Paint the fair Virtues which adorn
The sweetest Nymph that e'er was born—
Soft-ey'd Compassion, Candour, Truth,
Early Companions of thy Youth,
With independent Judgement join'd,
Dilate your Heart, and sway your Mind;
Where, Hand in Hand, Benevolence,
And Rectitude attend on Sense:
I'll bid the unthinking, Idly-gay,
From Dissipation turn away,
And mark the Fervour of your Eye,
When fix'd upon your native Sky,
You, void of Superstition, feel
The bless'd Effect of happy Zeal.
Record those Charms that cannot die;
Paint the fair Virtues which adorn
The sweetest Nymph that e'er was born—
Soft-ey'd Compassion, Candour, Truth,
Early Companions of thy Youth,
With independent Judgement join'd,
Dilate your Heart, and sway your Mind;
Where, Hand in Hand, Benevolence,
And Rectitude attend on Sense:
I'll bid the unthinking, Idly-gay,
From Dissipation turn away,
And mark the Fervour of your Eye,
When fix'd upon your native Sky,
You, void of Superstition, feel
The bless'd Effect of happy Zeal.
And, last of all, I will pursue
A Rule of Life I have learn'd from you.
For Gloominess, and Melancholy,
On this Side shunn'd, on that Side Folly,
Religion is for ever seen
With Sylvia dancing on the Green.
A Rule of Life I have learn'd from you.
For Gloominess, and Melancholy,
On this Side shunn'd, on that Side Folly,
Religion is for ever seen
With Sylvia dancing on the Green.
| The Shamrock | |