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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The LINNET and GOLDFINCH.
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 | The Shamrock |  |
The LINNET and GOLDFINCH.
Address'd to JAMES DIGGES LATOUCHE, Esq.
That Man is made by Nature free,
The Tyrant grants, and Slaves agree;
Yet few assert the mighty Claim,
Man, born in Glory, lives in Shame;
For most, like Isaac's hasty Boy,
Exchange their Blessing for a Toy,
To fancy'd Wants their Birth-right give,
And living, lose the Cause to live.
The Tyrant grants, and Slaves agree;
Yet few assert the mighty Claim,
Man, born in Glory, lives in Shame;
For most, like Isaac's hasty Boy,
Exchange their Blessing for a Toy,
To fancy'd Wants their Birth-right give,
And living, lose the Cause to live.
The Light of Reason scarce we claim,
When Custom clouds the infant Beam:
Man's Tutor is the general Voice,
And leaves no Room to Reason's Choice;
For each Opinion we embrace,
Is Accident of Time and Place.
When Custom clouds the infant Beam:
Man's Tutor is the general Voice,
And leaves no Room to Reason's Choice;
For each Opinion we embrace,
Is Accident of Time and Place.
Next Passion rules with scepter'd Sway,
And each, by turns, commands its Day;
Like Phaeton, they drive the Team,
And waste the World of Man in Flame:
Hope's gay Elysium here displays
Visions of Joy, and Shades of Ease;
There Grief casts down her tear-worn Eyes,
Strikes her sad Breast, and swells with Sighs;
Here Fame with generous Ardour fills,
There Pleasure, as she kisses, kills:
Here burns Revenge, there Anger glows,
Here Pity weeps for others Woes,
And Love, that wins o'er every Breast,
Appears in Liveries of the Rest.
Thus his own Tyrant Man first reigns,
And fits himself for foreign Chains.
And each, by turns, commands its Day;
Like Phaeton, they drive the Team,
And waste the World of Man in Flame:
434
Visions of Joy, and Shades of Ease;
There Grief casts down her tear-worn Eyes,
Strikes her sad Breast, and swells with Sighs;
Here Fame with generous Ardour fills,
There Pleasure, as she kisses, kills:
Here burns Revenge, there Anger glows,
Here Pity weeps for others Woes,
And Love, that wins o'er every Breast,
Appears in Liveries of the Rest.
Thus his own Tyrant Man first reigns,
And fits himself for foreign Chains.
Is there a Clime, where social Life
Feels not the Wounds of public Strife?
The first Attack by Sap's begun,
A Breach once made, our Rights are won;
The Men awake, they ope their Eyes,
And know the Angel, as she flies;
For Freedom, as for Friends, we moan;
'Till lost, their Worth is rarely known.
Feels not the Wounds of public Strife?
The first Attack by Sap's begun,
A Breach once made, our Rights are won;
The Men awake, they ope their Eyes,
And know the Angel, as she flies;
For Freedom, as for Friends, we moan;
'Till lost, their Worth is rarely known.
Order and Peace, harmonious Train,
Attends Subordination's Chain,
Quiet and Strength we trace from this,
And form the Scale of Common Bliss;
Yet Links, which Place and Honours crown,
Crush their inferior Brethren down;
For Power, like some unfriendly Shade,
Kills the weak Plant, that courts its Aid.
Attends Subordination's Chain,
Quiet and Strength we trace from this,
And form the Scale of Common Bliss;
Yet Links, which Place and Honours crown,
Crush their inferior Brethren down;
For Power, like some unfriendly Shade,
Kills the weak Plant, that courts its Aid.
Amidst these Ills, weak groveling Man
Boasts himself Lord of Nature's Plan,
He boasts of Reason's heavenly Light,
He boasts—and gives up Reason's Right.
The Spendthrift vaunts in idle Prate
The Rent-roll of his lost Estate,
With abject Pride in Bondage swells,
And plays his Chains, as Beasts their Bells.
Boasts himself Lord of Nature's Plan,
He boasts of Reason's heavenly Light,
He boasts—and gives up Reason's Right.
435
The Rent-roll of his lost Estate,
With abject Pride in Bondage swells,
And plays his Chains, as Beasts their Bells.
But these are Morals long since stale,
And serve—to introduce a Tale.
And serve—to introduce a Tale.
A Goldfinch, taken in the Snare,
Relenting Fate made Chloe's Care;
His streaky Plumes, his native Lays,
Engag'd her Love, and Love her Praise.
Around him Blooms of various Hues
Lavish'd the Fragrance of their Dues;
The chrystal Stream's transparent Face
Received new Brightness from his Vase;
What Pomp could give, his Chloe gave;
Thus oft a Palace holds a Slave.
Relenting Fate made Chloe's Care;
His streaky Plumes, his native Lays,
Engag'd her Love, and Love her Praise.
Around him Blooms of various Hues
Lavish'd the Fragrance of their Dues;
The chrystal Stream's transparent Face
Received new Brightness from his Vase;
What Pomp could give, his Chloe gave;
Thus oft a Palace holds a Slave.
But now the sickly Summer burns,
The River-Gods forsake their Urns;
The languid Flowerets lose their Paint;
And Parent Nature seems to faint.
Then Chloe sought the panting Breeze,
Where mix the Boughs of crowding Trees,
Where the fork'd Beam in vain assails,
And Freshness breathes in lively Gales;
Hither the Nymph her Charge convey'd,
To taste the cool refreshing Shade;
Extatic Pleasure swells his Veins,
He pours to Heaven his loudest Strains,
While sportive Echoes wake around,
And undulate a kindred Sound.
The River-Gods forsake their Urns;
The languid Flowerets lose their Paint;
And Parent Nature seems to faint.
Then Chloe sought the panting Breeze,
Where mix the Boughs of crowding Trees,
Where the fork'd Beam in vain assails,
And Freshness breathes in lively Gales;
Hither the Nymph her Charge convey'd,
To taste the cool refreshing Shade;
Extatic Pleasure swells his Veins,
He pours to Heaven his loudest Strains,
While sportive Echoes wake around,
And undulate a kindred Sound.
436
On some near Branch a Linnet stood,
A Warbler of the neighbouring Wood,
Who ne'er debas'd his woodland Song
To mix with Flattery's venal Throng;
No lawless Whim could bound his Flight,
He own'd no Rule, but that of Right.
Now reach'd his Ear the tuneful Sound,
That joy'd the woody Scenes around;
Ravish'd he hears, then speeds his Wing
To find this favourite Son of Spring:
Not long he soar'd in curious Flight,
Before the Goldfinch met his Sight;
First moves his Pity, then his Rage,
He sees a Brother, sees a Cage;
Silent some Time he trod the Spray,
At length thus burst his generous Lay.
A Warbler of the neighbouring Wood,
Who ne'er debas'd his woodland Song
To mix with Flattery's venal Throng;
No lawless Whim could bound his Flight,
He own'd no Rule, but that of Right.
Now reach'd his Ear the tuneful Sound,
That joy'd the woody Scenes around;
Ravish'd he hears, then speeds his Wing
To find this favourite Son of Spring:
Not long he soar'd in curious Flight,
Before the Goldfinch met his Sight;
First moves his Pity, then his Rage,
He sees a Brother, sees a Cage;
Silent some Time he trod the Spray,
At length thus burst his generous Lay.
Say Thou, whose melting Notes proclaim
At once thy Praises, and thy Shame,
While round thee broods the Captive's Woe,
Should the loud Hymns of Rapture flow?
Say, can'st thou drag the servile Chain,
And feel no Sting of mental Pain?
From thee the generous Ardour's fled,
Each inborn Virtue hangs her Head;
Know this, that Freedom is Life's Breath,
Who lives a Slave, he lives a Death.
At once thy Praises, and thy Shame,
While round thee broods the Captive's Woe,
Should the loud Hymns of Rapture flow?
Say, can'st thou drag the servile Chain,
And feel no Sting of mental Pain?
From thee the generous Ardour's fled,
Each inborn Virtue hangs her Head;
Know this, that Freedom is Life's Breath,
Who lives a Slave, he lives a Death.
See! how unbounded I can rove,
From Hill to Plain, from Field to Grove;
For me the Floweret shoots in Bloom,
Varies its Hues, and breathes Perfume;
For me thro' Vales the Rivulets stray,
And curl their Streams in wanton Play;
The Tree for me its Boughs displays,
A welcome Screen from mid-day blaze;
And Freedom tunes my grateful Song,
She grants me all—but Power of Wrong.
From Hill to Plain, from Field to Grove;
For me the Floweret shoots in Bloom,
Varies its Hues, and breathes Perfume;
437
And curl their Streams in wanton Play;
The Tree for me its Boughs displays,
A welcome Screen from mid-day blaze;
And Freedom tunes my grateful Song,
She grants me all—but Power of Wrong.
Honour and Love, my Hours employ,
That spurs to Danger, this to Joy,
As Justice leads, and Reason guides,
The different Call my Life divides:
But Tyrant's Lusts thy Joys controul,
Fetter thy Reason, damp thy Soul;
Unknown to thee Earth's Beauties pass,
The golden Corn, the Carpet Grass;
Thy Song ne'er banish'd gloomy Night,
Nor thank'd the Sun for warming Light;
On thee thy Country calls in vain,
A Slave declines the embattled Plain,
His Cloud of Woe is on him burst,
Fates, do your Spight: he knows the worst.
Oh! rouze to Virtue, hear my Call,
Live free, or with thy Freedom fall;
Awake thy Soul, thy Shackles spurn,
To Liberty, or Dust, return.
That spurs to Danger, this to Joy,
As Justice leads, and Reason guides,
The different Call my Life divides:
But Tyrant's Lusts thy Joys controul,
Fetter thy Reason, damp thy Soul;
Unknown to thee Earth's Beauties pass,
The golden Corn, the Carpet Grass;
Thy Song ne'er banish'd gloomy Night,
Nor thank'd the Sun for warming Light;
On thee thy Country calls in vain,
A Slave declines the embattled Plain,
His Cloud of Woe is on him burst,
Fates, do your Spight: he knows the worst.
Oh! rouze to Virtue, hear my Call,
Live free, or with thy Freedom fall;
Awake thy Soul, thy Shackles spurn,
To Liberty, or Dust, return.
Too weak thy Plea, the Goldfinch cries,
False, as thy Joys in freer Skies;
No outward Forms of Life can grace
Its varied Scenes with real Peace,
The softest Tints of Bliss, we find,
Are pencil'd by the easy Mind;
Then cease to call me Child of Woe,
For Self-persuasion answers, No.
False, as thy Joys in freer Skies;
No outward Forms of Life can grace
Its varied Scenes with real Peace,
The softest Tints of Bliss, we find,
Are pencil'd by the easy Mind;
Then cease to call me Child of Woe,
For Self-persuasion answers, No.
438
In Trains I see around thy Head,
What daily Horror Dangers spread;
For thee the patient Fowlers set
The viscous Branch, the meshy Net;
Thy Young each wandering Boy invades,
And mocks the Fence of thorny Shades,
Thy tender Joys he makes his Prize,
Nor heeds thy hovering Wings and Cries.
When Winter sends her Storms around,
And Rains and Frosts deform the Ground,
How chill'd each Vein! how drips each Plume!
While Famine threats her lingering Doom:
But I defy the driving Snows;
Around me Spring eternal blows;
In vain the Storm attempts my Rest,
Secure I sleep in Chloe's Breast,
Nestling in Sweets I there can lie,
Where thousands, thousands wish to die.
What daily Horror Dangers spread;
For thee the patient Fowlers set
The viscous Branch, the meshy Net;
Thy Young each wandering Boy invades,
And mocks the Fence of thorny Shades,
Thy tender Joys he makes his Prize,
Nor heeds thy hovering Wings and Cries.
When Winter sends her Storms around,
And Rains and Frosts deform the Ground,
How chill'd each Vein! how drips each Plume!
While Famine threats her lingering Doom:
But I defy the driving Snows;
Around me Spring eternal blows;
In vain the Storm attempts my Rest,
Secure I sleep in Chloe's Breast,
Nestling in Sweets I there can lie,
Where thousands, thousands wish to die.
Me should the Voice of Freedom move,
Freedom, that boasted Power to rove?
Inconstant Minds inclined to range,
On this Pretence indulge in Change,
Vary their Course, as Fancy strays,
And whirl, like Chaff, in eddy Maze.
What shall I quit my easy Chain,
And forfeit Chloe's Smiles for Pain?
Deluder, hence, I see your Snare,
And hate you Libertines of Air.
Freedom, that boasted Power to rove?
Inconstant Minds inclined to range,
On this Pretence indulge in Change,
Vary their Course, as Fancy strays,
And whirl, like Chaff, in eddy Maze.
What shall I quit my easy Chain,
And forfeit Chloe's Smiles for Pain?
Deluder, hence, I see your Snare,
And hate you Libertines of Air.
Too deep, alas! has Pleasure's Bowl,
Reply'd the Linnet, drench'd thy Soul;
Thy Thoughts in languid Motions creep,
And give each Sense to lazy Sleep,
While, Virtue, Country, and Renown
Lie buried in luxurious Down.
Reply'd the Linnet, drench'd thy Soul;
439
And give each Sense to lazy Sleep,
While, Virtue, Country, and Renown
Lie buried in luxurious Down.
Say, hast thou e'er revolv'd in Mind
The Ends, peculiar to thy Kind?
Why these thy Wings? Are these to lie
Unfurl'd, and Strangers to the Sky?
Should these endure the Pain of Wounds,
And feel the Dungeon's Iron Bounds?
Better hadst thou have crawl'd thy way,
A blind Inhabitant of Clay.
Why this thy Voice? To wake the Wood,
And spur thy Kind to Public Good;
Not tun'd to chaunt a Tyrant's Praise,
And sooth his pamper'd Hours to Ease.
For Shame! Does Pain alarm thy Breast?
Pain gives to Life a pleasing Zest;
For endless Scenes of constant Joy,
Fill the lull'd Soul, and filling, cloy.
And when fair Liberty's the Prize,
The Hero Pain or Death defies.
The Ends, peculiar to thy Kind?
Why these thy Wings? Are these to lie
Unfurl'd, and Strangers to the Sky?
Should these endure the Pain of Wounds,
And feel the Dungeon's Iron Bounds?
Better hadst thou have crawl'd thy way,
A blind Inhabitant of Clay.
Why this thy Voice? To wake the Wood,
And spur thy Kind to Public Good;
Not tun'd to chaunt a Tyrant's Praise,
And sooth his pamper'd Hours to Ease.
For Shame! Does Pain alarm thy Breast?
Pain gives to Life a pleasing Zest;
For endless Scenes of constant Joy,
Fill the lull'd Soul, and filling, cloy.
And when fair Liberty's the Prize,
The Hero Pain or Death defies.
No fickle Passion Freedom gives,
Where Freedom reigns, there Reason lives,
She scorns wild Fancy's clamorous Din,
And owns the living Law within;
Freedom and Conscience are the same,
And are distinguish'd but by Name:
Why then—but now the Captive's Fair
In Haste resum'd her little Care,
The Slave respectful Homage paid,
And with his Chirrup hail'd the Maid;
The Linnet breath'd a pitying Sigh,
Chid with a Look, then wing'd the Sky.
Where Freedom reigns, there Reason lives,
She scorns wild Fancy's clamorous Din,
And owns the living Law within;
Freedom and Conscience are the same,
And are distinguish'd but by Name:
Why then—but now the Captive's Fair
In Haste resum'd her little Care,
The Slave respectful Homage paid,
And with his Chirrup hail'd the Maid;
440
Chid with a Look, then wing'd the Sky.
Thus, studious of the Public Weal,
The Patriot burns with honest Zeal,
His honey'd Truths awake the Throng,
And sweet Persuasion gilds his Tongue:
Who but approves the manly Cause?
Glory invites—but Danger awes.
The Patriot burns with honest Zeal,
His honey'd Truths awake the Throng,
And sweet Persuasion gilds his Tongue:
Who but approves the manly Cause?
Glory invites—but Danger awes.
O Thou, to whom the Muse would pay
The Offering of a friendly Lay,
Receive that Praise thy Country owes,
That Praise, which from thy Virtue flows;
For, while employ'd in Freedom's Cause,
Success may fail thee, not Applause.
The Offering of a friendly Lay,
Receive that Praise thy Country owes,
That Praise, which from thy Virtue flows;
For, while employ'd in Freedom's Cause,
Success may fail thee, not Applause.
When sculptur'd Brass shall mix with Dust,
And mouldering falls the laurell'd Bust,
When grateful Poets' Toils shall fail,
Shrouded in dark Oblivion's Veil,
Borne on the Wings of Time, thy Name
Unhurt shall soar, and gather Fame:
Thy Patriot worth above all Art,
Shall live, engraven on the Heart.
And mouldering falls the laurell'd Bust,
When grateful Poets' Toils shall fail,
Shrouded in dark Oblivion's Veil,
Borne on the Wings of Time, thy Name
Unhurt shall soar, and gather Fame:
Thy Patriot worth above all Art,
Shall live, engraven on the Heart.
In the Year 1749, during the Administration of William, Earl of Harrington, Mr. Latouche, to whom this little Piece is address'd, offered himself, in Conjunction with Dr. Lucas, Candidate for the City of Dublin, and was accordingly duly elected, by a considerable Majority of the Citizens, to represent them in Parliament. But a Party soon after prevailing against him in the House, he was deprived of his Seat. The Doctor could not stand the Election; he had made himself obnoxious to Government by his Writings, which was the ostensible Cause of his Banishment some Time before.
| The Shamrock | |