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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ODE.
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 | The Shamrock |  |
478
ODE.
[The Sun, in Glory, wins his Way]
Written August 1751.
The Sun, in Glory, wins his Way,
And pours around refulgent Day;
The wide Horizon glows with Fire,
No balmy Breeze to asswage the Flame;
To yonder Arbour I'll retire,
And shade me from the noontide Beam.
The fainting Herds forsake the Mead,
And, panting, seek the grateful Shade.
The wanton Steed, whose ample Veins
Impetuous boil with generous Blood,
Eager deserts the thirsty Plains,
And laves him in the limpid Flood.
And pours around refulgent Day;
The wide Horizon glows with Fire,
No balmy Breeze to asswage the Flame;
To yonder Arbour I'll retire,
And shade me from the noontide Beam.
The fainting Herds forsake the Mead,
And, panting, seek the grateful Shade.
The wanton Steed, whose ample Veins
Impetuous boil with generous Blood,
Eager deserts the thirsty Plains,
And laves him in the limpid Flood.
Yonder the wearied Reaper stands,
The Scythe forsakes his nerveless Hands—
All rest, except the strenuous Bee;
She, vigorous at this sultry Hour,
From Leaf to Leaf expatiates free,
And flies, and toils from Flower to Flower.
Lo! where yon Beach, with Ivy bound,
Its verdant Foliage stretches round;
A faithful Youth, and tender Maid,
By Nature's simple Beauties grac'd,
Recline beneath the friendly Shade;
And Joys, unknown to Greatness, taste.
The Scythe forsakes his nerveless Hands—
All rest, except the strenuous Bee;
She, vigorous at this sultry Hour,
From Leaf to Leaf expatiates free,
And flies, and toils from Flower to Flower.
Lo! where yon Beach, with Ivy bound,
Its verdant Foliage stretches round;
A faithful Youth, and tender Maid,
By Nature's simple Beauties grac'd,
Recline beneath the friendly Shade;
And Joys, unknown to Greatness, taste.
479
Ah! would my lov'd Therania deign,
With one kind Smile to bless her Swain!
Thus, rapturous, on her Face I'd gaze;
That Face which beams seraphic Charms—
Thus, to my Lips, her Hand I'd raise;
Thus, ever clasp her in my Arms.
Far from the Whirl of busy Life,
From Hurry, Folly, Fraud, and Strife,
Smoothly along the peaceful Tide
Of blissful Time, we'd float away;
Steer down Life's Bosom, Side by Side,
And launch into the eternal Sea.
With one kind Smile to bless her Swain!
Thus, rapturous, on her Face I'd gaze;
That Face which beams seraphic Charms—
Thus, to my Lips, her Hand I'd raise;
Thus, ever clasp her in my Arms.
Far from the Whirl of busy Life,
From Hurry, Folly, Fraud, and Strife,
Smoothly along the peaceful Tide
Of blissful Time, we'd float away;
Steer down Life's Bosom, Side by Side,
And launch into the eternal Sea.
What means this Tumult? Why, my Heart,
Throb'st thou, transfix'd, as with a Dart?
Ah, whence this Trembling? why thus shrink.
My inmost Thoughts, and damp my Soul?
Why do my Limbs enfeebl'd sink?
And Life's chill'd Fluid backward roll?
Begone, thou false Intruder, Love!
Nor longer tempt my Thoughts to rove.
What! wilt thou ever thus torment?
Can no Recess thy Wiles elude?
Incessant shall my Heart be rent?
And pierc'd the deepest Solitude?
Throb'st thou, transfix'd, as with a Dart?
Ah, whence this Trembling? why thus shrink.
My inmost Thoughts, and damp my Soul?
Why do my Limbs enfeebl'd sink?
And Life's chill'd Fluid backward roll?
Begone, thou false Intruder, Love!
Nor longer tempt my Thoughts to rove.
What! wilt thou ever thus torment?
Can no Recess thy Wiles elude?
Incessant shall my Heart be rent?
And pierc'd the deepest Solitude?
Even when pale Cynthia's silver Robe,
Has mantled o'er the drowsy Globe;
When Night, still Goddess! shrouds the Sky;
And Nature sinks in soft Repose;
When ravening Wolves to Covert fly;
And dungeon'd Slaves forget their Woes.
Even then, estrang'd to needful Rest,
Unruly Passions tear my Breast,
Still, still she moves before mine Eyes—
That Form august! that Face divine!
But oh! my Heart within me dies,
She never, never can be mine.
Has mantled o'er the drowsy Globe;
When Night, still Goddess! shrouds the Sky;
And Nature sinks in soft Repose;
When ravening Wolves to Covert fly;
And dungeon'd Slaves forget their Woes.
480
Unruly Passions tear my Breast,
Still, still she moves before mine Eyes—
That Form august! that Face divine!
But oh! my Heart within me dies,
She never, never can be mine.
Why do I thus embrace my Bane?
Why cherish what but gives me Pain?
Fortune and Rank, Therania raise,
Far, far above my humble Sphere;
No more I'll roam in Fancy's Maze,
Alas! it leads but to Despair—
Thus, in her Absence, I complain;
She's present—and I grasp my Chain;
Gaze on her Charms with ravish'd Eyes;
Drink deep of Love at every Breath;
Still gaze, though that Way Madness lies;
Still drink, though every Draught is Death.
Why cherish what but gives me Pain?
Fortune and Rank, Therania raise,
Far, far above my humble Sphere;
No more I'll roam in Fancy's Maze,
Alas! it leads but to Despair—
Thus, in her Absence, I complain;
She's present—and I grasp my Chain;
Gaze on her Charms with ravish'd Eyes;
Drink deep of Love at every Breath;
Still gaze, though that Way Madness lies;
Still drink, though every Draught is Death.
| The Shamrock | |