The Harp of Erin Containing the Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Dermody. In Two Volumes |
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EXCULPATORY LINES
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 | The Harp of Erin |  |
250
EXCULPATORY LINES
TO ATTICUS.
Quo quisque est major, magis est
placabilis ira;
Et faciles motus mens generosa capit.
Ovid.
Et faciles motus mens generosa capit.
Ovid.
By what strange fate great talents are
allied
To greatest faults, whose judgment can decide?
Whether the finer fibres of the brain,
Intensely bent, and stretching ev'n to pain,
Relaxing, may too frequently require
Fresh fuel for the intellectual fire:
Or that rash genius, in its wild career,
All-devious visits each eccentric sphere;
And, conversant with fancied forms of air,
Mocks the cold caution of terrestrial care;—
Now, bravely borne on seraph-wing sublime,
List'ning th' eternal systems' choral chime ;
Now 'mid the gloom of central Hades hurl'd,
Groping the rayless dungeons of the world;
Anon with more effulgent face to rise,
And sun-like travel through serener skies,
Till vile Intemperance, of hideous birth,
The struggling pinion chains to native earth,
And reason's spark, irregularly bright,
At length exhausted sinks in mournful night.
How sad the wreck, the triumph how malign,
When Vice allures the muses to her shrine;
Round her black brow when roses are entwin'd,
And demons revel o'er the ruin'd mind!
To greatest faults, whose judgment can decide?
Whether the finer fibres of the brain,
Intensely bent, and stretching ev'n to pain,
Relaxing, may too frequently require
Fresh fuel for the intellectual fire:
Or that rash genius, in its wild career,
All-devious visits each eccentric sphere;
And, conversant with fancied forms of air,
Mocks the cold caution of terrestrial care;—
Now, bravely borne on seraph-wing sublime,
List'ning th' eternal systems' choral chime ;
Now 'mid the gloom of central Hades hurl'd,
Groping the rayless dungeons of the world;
251
And sun-like travel through serener skies,
Till vile Intemperance, of hideous birth,
The struggling pinion chains to native earth,
And reason's spark, irregularly bright,
At length exhausted sinks in mournful night.
How sad the wreck, the triumph how malign,
When Vice allures the muses to her shrine;
Round her black brow when roses are entwin'd,
And demons revel o'er the ruin'd mind!
In vain for causes would stern
prudence seek,
But of the dread effect all ages speak;
While on full many a minstrel's doom severe,
Relenting pardon streams th' eternal tear.
Though 'mid the guilty but illustrious band
My humble name unknown must never stand;
Though little praise, alas! to me is due;
Would I deserv'd so little censure too!
Deeply impress'd th' unpleasing theme I feel
Which conscious blushes, spite of pride, reveal:
Yet, sooth'd once more by thy absolving smile,
Enrag'd compunction's scorpion-sting beguile;
And find my soul from sensual bondage free,
Tutor'd by Virtue, Atticus, and thee.
But of the dread effect all ages speak;
While on full many a minstrel's doom severe,
Relenting pardon streams th' eternal tear.
Though 'mid the guilty but illustrious band
My humble name unknown must never stand;
Though little praise, alas! to me is due;
Would I deserv'd so little censure too!
Deeply impress'd th' unpleasing theme I feel
Which conscious blushes, spite of pride, reveal:
Yet, sooth'd once more by thy absolving smile,
Enrag'd compunction's scorpion-sting beguile;
And find my soul from sensual bondage free,
Tutor'd by Virtue, Atticus, and thee.
| The Harp of Erin | |