The Harp of Erin Containing the Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Dermody. In Two Volumes |
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 | The Harp of Erin |  |
CANTO II.
Ye airy vassals of my sov'reign sway,
Where'er ye wander wild, or sportive stray;
Whether the soft gales court your floating forms,
Or Pity calls you in the midst of storms;
My voice attend; that voice by all obey'd,
And wing your flight to this distinguish'd maid.
Some through each nerve the thrill of rapture wind,
Some point the keen sensations of her mind,
Some stretch the filmy texture of her train;
The swift blood pours through each meand'ring vein,
The roseate tincture of the cheek combine,
The eye-glance burnish with a beam divine,
The pearly tear, bright quintessence of dew,
In lily-urn with sweetest myrrh imbue;
With pleasure teach the azure stream to start:
Myself shall guard the passes of the heart.
And ye prime rulers of the female life,
Who by or vapours bland, or weary strife,
Ambrosial slumbers on each lid bestow,
And rest the soft cheek on the hand of snow;
Pure Tea, and wrangling Whist, oh! grant my pray'r,
And send kind visions to the sleeping fair:
Before her sight, let minstrels move again,
Or livelier dances lead the smiling train;
Unreal lords the sparkling ring display,
And rival belles quite vanquish'd steal away.
Still let the boxes ken her every grace,
And prying optics stare her in the face;
While beauty's self directs each winning air,
And sylphids thread the ringlets of her hair;
While thousand lips proclaim her matchless praise,
Fans flutter, swordknots shine, and diamonds blaze.”
Where'er ye wander wild, or sportive stray;
Whether the soft gales court your floating forms,
Or Pity calls you in the midst of storms;
My voice attend; that voice by all obey'd,
And wing your flight to this distinguish'd maid.
Some through each nerve the thrill of rapture wind,
Some point the keen sensations of her mind,
Some stretch the filmy texture of her train;
The swift blood pours through each meand'ring vein,
The roseate tincture of the cheek combine,
The eye-glance burnish with a beam divine,
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In lily-urn with sweetest myrrh imbue;
With pleasure teach the azure stream to start:
Myself shall guard the passes of the heart.
And ye prime rulers of the female life,
Who by or vapours bland, or weary strife,
Ambrosial slumbers on each lid bestow,
And rest the soft cheek on the hand of snow;
Pure Tea, and wrangling Whist, oh! grant my pray'r,
And send kind visions to the sleeping fair:
Before her sight, let minstrels move again,
Or livelier dances lead the smiling train;
Unreal lords the sparkling ring display,
And rival belles quite vanquish'd steal away.
Still let the boxes ken her every grace,
And prying optics stare her in the face;
While beauty's self directs each winning air,
And sylphids thread the ringlets of her hair;
While thousand lips proclaim her matchless praise,
Fans flutter, swordknots shine, and diamonds blaze.”
He said, and bade around her couch to close
The cloudy curtains of a deep repose:
Then fairest dreams arise at his command,
And roll successive by his magic wand;
From Morpheus' labyrinth of languor drawn,
To the dim twilight of her veily lawn.
For on her head-dress rapturous they rest,
Or sink enamour'd on her heaving breast.
The cloudy curtains of a deep repose:
Then fairest dreams arise at his command,
And roll successive by his magic wand;
From Morpheus' labyrinth of languor drawn,
To the dim twilight of her veily lawn.
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Or sink enamour'd on her heaving breast.
A bracelet rich the guardian sprite procur'd,
With studs adorn'd, and with a clasp secur'd,
Potent (the wond'rous work of hands divine)
The thoughts, the words, the actions, to refine,
In the most stubborn bosom to implant
A fond attention to each alien want;
Potent to guide Compassion's barbed dart,
And give to Sympathy the liberal heart:
Around her arm he bound the brilliant spell,
Her arm which could the milk-white meed excel:
For white was ev'ry gem's transparent pride,
As the swan's plumage on the silver tide;
Or Cynthia's modest front, adorning high
The blue pavilion of the starry sky,
When negro Night but spreads a glitt'ring gloom,
And sleeks with melting gales her raven-plume.
With studs adorn'd, and with a clasp secur'd,
Potent (the wond'rous work of hands divine)
The thoughts, the words, the actions, to refine,
In the most stubborn bosom to implant
A fond attention to each alien want;
Potent to guide Compassion's barbed dart,
And give to Sympathy the liberal heart:
Around her arm he bound the brilliant spell,
Her arm which could the milk-white meed excel:
For white was ev'ry gem's transparent pride,
As the swan's plumage on the silver tide;
Or Cynthia's modest front, adorning high
The blue pavilion of the starry sky,
When negro Night but spreads a glitt'ring gloom,
And sleeks with melting gales her raven-plume.
Sleep on, proud nymph, regardless of the pain
Thy rare perfections cause full many a swain,
Who seeks to lose thee in the silent shade,
Or greet thee now with softest serenade:
“Blest syren, form'd to lure each breast from peace,
When will the witch'ry of thy beauty cease?
Bright star, design'd to wreck th' incautious crew,
When will thine eyes no more thy prey pursue?
When wilt thou learn to clear thy haughty brow,
When hear the crowds that to thine altars bow?”
Thy rare perfections cause full many a swain,
Who seeks to lose thee in the silent shade,
Or greet thee now with softest serenade:
“Blest syren, form'd to lure each breast from peace,
When will the witch'ry of thy beauty cease?
Bright star, design'd to wreck th' incautious crew,
When will thine eyes no more thy prey pursue?
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When hear the crowds that to thine altars bow?”
Thus they, unconscious of their idol's state,
Just on the brink of wedlock and of fate:
For ere the blushes of the East appear,
Or blackbird warbles to young Morning's ear,
Her cruel vows are broke, her conquests o'er,
And Hymen enters at the open door.
So, when ten years their tedious lapse had told,
And chiefs who came in youth were now grown old,
When Time himself was ready to destroy,
Fell the huge tow'rs of heav'n-defended Troy.
Just on the brink of wedlock and of fate:
For ere the blushes of the East appear,
Or blackbird warbles to young Morning's ear,
Her cruel vows are broke, her conquests o'er,
And Hymen enters at the open door.
So, when ten years their tedious lapse had told,
And chiefs who came in youth were now grown old,
When Time himself was ready to destroy,
Fell the huge tow'rs of heav'n-defended Troy.
| The Harp of Erin | |