The Harp of Erin Containing the Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Dermody. In Two Volumes |
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EPISTLE TO J. C. WALKER, ESQ.
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 | The Harp of Erin |  |
236
EPISTLE TO J. C. WALKER, ESQ.
While in Italy.
While safe on Latium's classic shore,
Beneath her cloudless skies you rove,
The Mantuan's mouldering cot explore,
Or Tully's desolated grove;
Beneath her cloudless skies you rove,
The Mantuan's mouldering cot explore,
Or Tully's desolated grove;
Oh! let my artless muse, unknown
To all the charms thy ancients knew,
Awake the soft pipe's liquid tone;
A song, if not sublime, yet true.
To all the charms thy ancients knew,
Awake the soft pipe's liquid tone;
A song, if not sublime, yet true.
'Tis thine, with fond research to trace
The shrinking river's latent vein;
From dust to dig th' imperial face,
Or raise to light the lofty strain.
The shrinking river's latent vein;
From dust to dig th' imperial face,
Or raise to light the lofty strain.
Then, like the bee, full-fraught return,
Instruction pour from Wisdom's urn,
And bid the Alban graces smile
On lost Juverna's barren isle.
Instruction pour from Wisdom's urn,
And bid the Alban graces smile
On lost Juverna's barren isle.
237
Methinks a visionary band
Of palm-crown'd shades attend thy path;
With vigour arm thy curious hand,
And lull the sleeping serpent's wrath.
Of palm-crown'd shades attend thy path;
With vigour arm thy curious hand,
And lull the sleeping serpent's wrath.
Old Tiber on his yellow stream
(His blue stole floating in the wind)
Awakes from his long-lengthen'd dream,
And whispers to thy tranced mind:
(His blue stole floating in the wind)
Awakes from his long-lengthen'd dream,
And whispers to thy tranced mind:
Recounts what former deeds were done,
What poets sung, what warriors fought;
Embalms with tears each godlike son,
And dwells upon the noble thought:
What poets sung, what warriors fought;
Embalms with tears each godlike son,
And dwells upon the noble thought:
Recounts the fair historic grace
That told each martial tale to fame,
That wont each hidden fault to trace,
And falters at his Livy's name.
That told each martial tale to fame,
That wont each hidden fault to trace,
And falters at his Livy's name.
Oh, couldst thou from some gentle shade
Retrieve the lost, the priceless page,
The depths of elder Time invade,
And brighten blank Oblivion's age!
Retrieve the lost, the priceless page,
The depths of elder Time invade,
And brighten blank Oblivion's age!
The wish is vain: what taste can do,
What elegance with sense combin'd,
Thy learned toil shall bring to view,
And nourish the abstracted mind.
What elegance with sense combin'd,
Thy learned toil shall bring to view,
And nourish the abstracted mind.
238
Perchance, with later genius smit,
By Vaucluse' silver springs you sit,
And 'mid the purple bowret's hear
The minstrel of the blooming year.
By Vaucluse' silver springs you sit,
And 'mid the purple bowret's hear
The minstrel of the blooming year.
Thee Dante's holy spirit leads
Through asphodel-embroider'd meads,
Or tumbles with impetuous sweep
Down the rough mountain's horrid steep:
Through asphodel-embroider'd meads,
Or tumbles with impetuous sweep
Down the rough mountain's horrid steep:
Meanwhile, the penal lashes sound
With lamentable shrieks of woe;
And threats the aching soul that wound
Shrill murmur'd from the gulf below.
With lamentable shrieks of woe;
And threats the aching soul that wound
Shrill murmur'd from the gulf below.
Or he who chose Orlando fierce,
By Fancy fir'd, his beauteous guide;
And rais'd Adventure's knightly pride
In wild varieties of verse.
By Fancy fir'd, his beauteous guide;
And rais'd Adventure's knightly pride
In wild varieties of verse.
Or rather Tasso's chaster lay,
Melodious melting, or sublime;
Tasso, who sweetest could display
The lulling witchery of rhime.
Melodious melting, or sublime;
Tasso, who sweetest could display
The lulling witchery of rhime.
Whate'er thy task, pure truth is thine,
That 'mid Norwegian frosts would shine;
And manly knowledge, temper'd mild,
With winning ease, serenely free:
For, when fond Nature moulded thee,
The Muse, the Virtues, and the Graces, smil'd.
That 'mid Norwegian frosts would shine;
And manly knowledge, temper'd mild,
With winning ease, serenely free:
For, when fond Nature moulded thee,
The Muse, the Virtues, and the Graces, smil'd.
| The Harp of Erin | |