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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ON THE BERNARD FAMILY, IN CARLOW. |
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 | The Shamrock |  |
371
ON THE BERNARD FAMILY, IN CARLOW.
Apollo's fabled Aid I scorn,
Nor court the vocal Throng:
For, Carlow's Nymphs shall now adorn,
And animate my Song;
The Nymphs, who haunt the Barrow's Side,
Where Pleasure smiling reigns;
The Grace, the Dignity, the Pride,
Of Carlow's happy Swains.
Nor court the vocal Throng:
For, Carlow's Nymphs shall now adorn,
And animate my Song;
The Nymphs, who haunt the Barrow's Side,
Where Pleasure smiling reigns;
The Grace, the Dignity, the Pride,
Of Carlow's happy Swains.
Oh! had you seen them, in the Dance,
With sprightly Gesture move,
And now retreat—and now advance,
In all the Pomp of Love,
Your Heart would at one View have felt
That tender, generous Fire,
Which can the hardest Bosom melt
In Flames of soft Desire.
With sprightly Gesture move,
And now retreat—and now advance,
In all the Pomp of Love,
Your Heart would at one View have felt
That tender, generous Fire,
Which can the hardest Bosom melt
In Flames of soft Desire.
Whom shall I first in Order bring,
To grace my flowing Line,
Where Charms so various, while I sing,
Still puzzle as they shine?
The engaging Stella shall appear,
With Elegance her own;
The first, in Grandeur, Ease, and Air;
Vice-Queen, on Beauty's Throne:
To grace my flowing Line,
Where Charms so various, while I sing,
Still puzzle as they shine?
372
With Elegance her own;
The first, in Grandeur, Ease, and Air;
Vice-Queen, on Beauty's Throne:
Tis here, that Cupid spreads his Toils,
All o'er her snowy Breast,—
Her coral Lips,—her dimpled Smiles;
And robs us of our Rest.
In vain the accomplish'd Fair we shun;—
Such Magic's in her Eye,
That, if we gaze, we are undone;
And perish, if we fly.
All o'er her snowy Breast,—
Her coral Lips,—her dimpled Smiles;
And robs us of our Rest.
In vain the accomplish'd Fair we shun;—
Such Magic's in her Eye,
That, if we gaze, we are undone;
And perish, if we fly.
The gentle Susan, mild as May,
In virgin Charms array'd,
Shall bloom the second in my Lay,
An ever-matchless Maid:
The second of the Bernard Name—
A Name, where all are fair—
She should the foremost Honours claim,
If Stella were not there.
In virgin Charms array'd,
Shall bloom the second in my Lay,
An ever-matchless Maid:
The second of the Bernard Name—
A Name, where all are fair—
She should the foremost Honours claim,
If Stella were not there.
The third, bright Kitty, is thy Due:
Nor let me be disgrac'd,
If after Stella, and fair Sue,
Perhaps thou art misplac'd:
In Beauty, Men may disagree;—
That they agree, is rare;—
And, what's the fairest Form to me,
To others mayn't be fair.
Nor let me be disgrac'd,
If after Stella, and fair Sue,
Perhaps thou art misplac'd:
In Beauty, Men may disagree;—
That they agree, is rare;—
And, what's the fairest Form to me,
To others mayn't be fair.
Two lovely Fannies next shall shine,
In native Lustre bright;
And Molly, too, a Maid divine;
All form'd to give Delight;
All form'd to give extatic Bliss,
And Happiness refin'd;
All form'd to please—but most in this—
The Charms that please the Mind.
In native Lustre bright;
And Molly, too, a Maid divine;
All form'd to give Delight;
373
And Happiness refin'd;
All form'd to please—but most in this—
The Charms that please the Mind.
If aught the Beauty of the Face,
Which marks the Bernard Name,
And far and near extolls this Race
Throughout the Path of Fame;
If aught that Beauty can outvie,
Which makes each Heart their Slave,—
It is the Charm, which ne'er can die;—
The Charm, that scorns the Grave.
Which marks the Bernard Name,
And far and near extolls this Race
Throughout the Path of Fame;
If aught that Beauty can outvie,
Which makes each Heart their Slave,—
It is the Charm, which ne'er can die;—
The Charm, that scorns the Grave.
Thus far, this Family I've sung,
The pleasant Barrow's Boast;
But have not Time, nor Pen, nor Tongue,
For each deserving Toast.—
Then, let some other Bard rehearse
The long, illustrious Line:
I'll pay that Candour to his Verse,
I now implore for mine.
The pleasant Barrow's Boast;
But have not Time, nor Pen, nor Tongue,
For each deserving Toast.—
Then, let some other Bard rehearse
The long, illustrious Line:
I'll pay that Candour to his Verse,
I now implore for mine.
| The Shamrock | |