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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| I. | LETTER I. |
| II. |
| III. |
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 | The Shamrock |  |
LETTER I.
INSCRIBED TO The Honourable MRS. BERESFORD.
Where art thou, Aza? where? how far remov'd?
Where can his Zilia seek her best belov'd?
Direct me, Heaven! direct a wretched Maid,
Who suppliant kneels for thy much-wanted Aid:
Tell me, O tell me! where the royal Youth,
Inform'd with Virtue, Constancy, and Truth,
My Love, my Ynca, where does he reside?
Where mourn the Effects of Spain's rapacious Pride?
What new Invention can his Zilia find,
To paint her tender Heart to Aza's Mind?
To thee, thus absent, Nought my Cries avail,
Like Morning-Vapours, rising, they exhale;
In vain, thine Aid, thy Succour I implore;
Thy dubious Fate distresses me the more.
E'en now, ye Powers! e'en now, propitious prove;
Nor in my Fall involve the Man I love.
Where can his Zilia seek her best belov'd?
Direct me, Heaven! direct a wretched Maid,
Who suppliant kneels for thy much-wanted Aid:
Tell me, O tell me! where the royal Youth,
Inform'd with Virtue, Constancy, and Truth,
My Love, my Ynca, where does he reside?
Where mourn the Effects of Spain's rapacious Pride?
What new Invention can his Zilia find,
To paint her tender Heart to Aza's Mind?
To thee, thus absent, Nought my Cries avail,
Like Morning-Vapours, rising, they exhale;
378
Thy dubious Fate distresses me the more.
E'en now, ye Powers! e'en now, propitious prove;
Nor in my Fall involve the Man I love.
When, for the plunder'd Temple of the Sun,
By barbarous, sacrilegious Hands o'erthrown,
My Eyes should pour the never-ceasing Tear,
For thee, alone, I grieve, for thee I fear:
Since that dread Moment, when the savage Race,
Dragg'd me from God, and from thy lov'd Embrace,
Retain'd in sad Captivity I lie,
Plung'd in the Abyss of dark Obscurity.
Is it my Guilt that Heaven's Resentment draws?
I feel the Effects, unconscious of the Cause:
Ah! what am I? that I alone am curst,—
Time still runs on, as smoothly as at first;
Due and alternate, Night and Day returns;
Nature's the same; and only Zilia mourns,
Fallen from my Height, nor suffer'd to prepare
My destin'd Soul for all this Load of Care.
By barbarous, sacrilegious Hands o'erthrown,
My Eyes should pour the never-ceasing Tear,
For thee, alone, I grieve, for thee I fear:
Since that dread Moment, when the savage Race,
Dragg'd me from God, and from thy lov'd Embrace,
Retain'd in sad Captivity I lie,
Plung'd in the Abyss of dark Obscurity.
Is it my Guilt that Heaven's Resentment draws?
I feel the Effects, unconscious of the Cause:
Ah! what am I? that I alone am curst,—
Time still runs on, as smoothly as at first;
Due and alternate, Night and Day returns;
Nature's the same; and only Zilia mourns,
Fallen from my Height, nor suffer'd to prepare
My destin'd Soul for all this Load of Care.
Here, moss-grown Walls confine my narrow Sight;
A wretched Mat receives my Limbs at Night.
Say, where these Ministers of Hell were bred;
What savage Breast their infant Cravings fed;
For, Nothing human could, relentless, see,
Or act such Crimes, as shock Humanity:
Oh! the Barbarians! in whose cruel Hand
The fatal Thunder rumbles at Command.
Aza, where art thou? how didst thou evade
The flaming Shafts, that such Destruction made?
Did some bless'd Chance secure my venturous Lord
From the keen Edge of the descending Sword?
Did Heaven those hellish Instruments avert,
And turn their harmless Points from Aza's Heart?
I know thy Soul, thy Disregard of Life,
Where Thirst of Fame conducts the hostile Strife;
I know thy Courage; but, I doubt thy Power,
Too far unequal to the Thunder's Roar.
A wretched Mat receives my Limbs at Night.
Say, where these Ministers of Hell were bred;
What savage Breast their infant Cravings fed;
For, Nothing human could, relentless, see,
Or act such Crimes, as shock Humanity:
379
The fatal Thunder rumbles at Command.
Aza, where art thou? how didst thou evade
The flaming Shafts, that such Destruction made?
Did some bless'd Chance secure my venturous Lord
From the keen Edge of the descending Sword?
Did Heaven those hellish Instruments avert,
And turn their harmless Points from Aza's Heart?
I know thy Soul, thy Disregard of Life,
Where Thirst of Fame conducts the hostile Strife;
I know thy Courage; but, I doubt thy Power,
Too far unequal to the Thunder's Roar.
'Twas on the fatal Day, which should have shone,
To grace the Losing of my virgin Zone,
While in the Temple's sacred Arch I sate,
In Meditation on the nuptial State,
My nimble Fingers through my Quipos mov'd,
To tell how Zilia, and her Aza, lov'd;
Here did my Thoughts recall the happy Hour,
When thy dread Father shar'd with thee his Power;
That Power to visit the Divine Abode,
Where vulgar Feet irreverend never trod:
Then, when thou stood'st amidst our virgin Train,
My Heart embrac'd the voluntary Chain.
How sweet to us appear'd thy youthful Mien,
Whom but the Ynca's Self alone had seen:
My ravish'd Eyes pursued you as you mov'd,
While frequent Sighs betray'd how much I lov'd;
'Twas Love, my Aza; for my tortur'd Breast
Alternate Joy, and bitter Care, confess'd:
Even, while thy new-acquainted Beauty charm'd,
Attendant Jealousy my Soul alarm'd;
With new-born Hate, the gazing Throng I see,
And blam'd their Frailty, to be mov'd like me.
But, when I learn'd my happy Self decreed,
As next in Blood, to share thy princely Bed,
What Joys I felt, when your assenting Voice
Confirm'd and ratified the public Choice:
Oh! since that Hour, what Moments have we pass'd,
In Bliss, too soft, too exquisite, to last!
To grace the Losing of my virgin Zone,
While in the Temple's sacred Arch I sate,
In Meditation on the nuptial State,
My nimble Fingers through my Quipos mov'd,
To tell how Zilia, and her Aza, lov'd;
Here did my Thoughts recall the happy Hour,
When thy dread Father shar'd with thee his Power;
That Power to visit the Divine Abode,
Where vulgar Feet irreverend never trod:
Then, when thou stood'st amidst our virgin Train,
My Heart embrac'd the voluntary Chain.
How sweet to us appear'd thy youthful Mien,
Whom but the Ynca's Self alone had seen:
My ravish'd Eyes pursued you as you mov'd,
While frequent Sighs betray'd how much I lov'd;
380
Alternate Joy, and bitter Care, confess'd:
Even, while thy new-acquainted Beauty charm'd,
Attendant Jealousy my Soul alarm'd;
With new-born Hate, the gazing Throng I see,
And blam'd their Frailty, to be mov'd like me.
But, when I learn'd my happy Self decreed,
As next in Blood, to share thy princely Bed,
What Joys I felt, when your assenting Voice
Confirm'd and ratified the public Choice:
Oh! since that Hour, what Moments have we pass'd,
In Bliss, too soft, too exquisite, to last!
Now, by Degrees, the parti-colour'd Blue
Of both our Loves the faithful Painting drew,
When, on a sudden, a tumultuous Sound
Awak'd my Thoughts; the Temple shook around:
Then was my warm Imagination fir'd
With what my Tenderness for you inspir'd;
Trembling with Hope, impatient I await
The Ynca's Office, to unite our Fate;
Thy manly Beauties all my Thoughts employ;
Fearless, I spring to meet my coming Joy.
But, ah! what different horrid Scenes appear!
The sad Remembrance fills my Soul with Fear;
The Temple Pavement stain'd with human Gore;
And the Sun's Image prostrate on the Floor;
Our frighted Virgins from the Murderers fly;
And helpless Mamas, struck with Thunder, die.
Trembling, I sought the Temple's deep Recess;
But there no Shelter found for my Distress.
Can'st thou believe it?—these unhallow'd Bands
On the Sun's Daughter urg'd their impious Hands;
Their frantic Rage the Sun himself disdain'd,
Nor fear'd due Vengeance from his Rites prophan'd;
Their ruling Passion Want of Gold supplies,
To that alone they offer Sacrifice;
The Thirst of Gold was first the guilty Source
Of our Misfortunes, and their bloody Force.
Of both our Loves the faithful Painting drew,
When, on a sudden, a tumultuous Sound
Awak'd my Thoughts; the Temple shook around:
Then was my warm Imagination fir'd
With what my Tenderness for you inspir'd;
Trembling with Hope, impatient I await
The Ynca's Office, to unite our Fate;
Thy manly Beauties all my Thoughts employ;
Fearless, I spring to meet my coming Joy.
But, ah! what different horrid Scenes appear!
The sad Remembrance fills my Soul with Fear;
The Temple Pavement stain'd with human Gore;
And the Sun's Image prostrate on the Floor;
Our frighted Virgins from the Murderers fly;
And helpless Mamas, struck with Thunder, die.
381
But there no Shelter found for my Distress.
Can'st thou believe it?—these unhallow'd Bands
On the Sun's Daughter urg'd their impious Hands;
Their frantic Rage the Sun himself disdain'd,
Nor fear'd due Vengeance from his Rites prophan'd;
Their ruling Passion Want of Gold supplies,
To that alone they offer Sacrifice;
The Thirst of Gold was first the guilty Source
Of our Misfortunes, and their bloody Force.
Torn from the solemn, sanctified Recess,
Yet premature, and in my virgin Dress,
My Feet, unwilling, trod the sacred Floor,
And pass'd, unworthy, through the nuptial Door;
From thence to Prison, where the glimmering Light
Just beam'd sufficient to encrease my Fright:
But, while this horrid Desolation reigns,
By happy Chance, my Quipos still remains:
This is a Treasure, as the mystic Twine
Must act the Chaqui 'twixt my Soul and thine:
Fallacious Hope! unless some pitying God
Would speed my Work to thy unknown Abode.
But, Oh! even now, perhaps my Aza stands,
Prone o'er his Fate, amidst those treacherous Bands;
Even while my Soul describes its suffering Fears,
Perhaps these Threads receive a Widow's Tears:
Forbid it, Heaven! relieve our present Woes;
And urge thy Vengeance only on our Foes.
Could I myself perform the Chaqui's Part,
And bring these Tidings of thy Zilia's Smart,
For that short Bliss I'd all my Days forego
That the Sun dooms my Pilgrimage below.
My Heart is rack'd; ah! whither am I driven?
Aza!—my dear-lov'd Aza—Mercy, Heaven!
Yet premature, and in my virgin Dress,
My Feet, unwilling, trod the sacred Floor,
And pass'd, unworthy, through the nuptial Door;
From thence to Prison, where the glimmering Light
Just beam'd sufficient to encrease my Fright:
But, while this horrid Desolation reigns,
By happy Chance, my Quipos still remains:
This is a Treasure, as the mystic Twine
Must act the Chaqui 'twixt my Soul and thine:
Fallacious Hope! unless some pitying God
Would speed my Work to thy unknown Abode.
But, Oh! even now, perhaps my Aza stands,
Prone o'er his Fate, amidst those treacherous Bands;
Even while my Soul describes its suffering Fears,
Perhaps these Threads receive a Widow's Tears:
382
And urge thy Vengeance only on our Foes.
Could I myself perform the Chaqui's Part,
And bring these Tidings of thy Zilia's Smart,
For that short Bliss I'd all my Days forego
That the Sun dooms my Pilgrimage below.
My Heart is rack'd; ah! whither am I driven?
Aza!—my dear-lov'd Aza—Mercy, Heaven!
| The Shamrock | |