The Harp of Erin Containing the Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Dermody. In Two Volumes |
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ON THE MISFORTUNES OF
AN INGENIOUS MIND. |
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 | The Harp of Erin |  |
ON THE MISFORTUNES OF AN INGENIOUS MIND.
Alas! too fatally inspir'd,
Why heaves this heart, with purest aim,
For aught the sage's soul admir'd,
Or raptur'd minstrel gave to fame?
Why heaves this heart, with purest aim,
For aught the sage's soul admir'd,
Or raptur'd minstrel gave to fame?
Why throbs within this lone recess
Each finer pulse of general zeal,
That mourns, because it cannot bless
The wants 'tis fated still to feel?
Each finer pulse of general zeal,
That mourns, because it cannot bless
The wants 'tis fated still to feel?
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Did fortune blast what nature gave,
Averse, with dark malignant glare?
Did sorrow mark the victim's grave,
When grac'd with more than mortal's share?
Averse, with dark malignant glare?
Did sorrow mark the victim's grave,
When grac'd with more than mortal's share?
Ah! cruel gift, ah! baneful prize,
By too-bewitching fancy led,
To bid hope's fairest visions rise,
Then find those fairest wishes fled.
By too-bewitching fancy led,
To bid hope's fairest visions rise,
Then find those fairest wishes fled.
To pause on the deserted gloom,
By their lost hues more hideous made;
While, only left, an early tomb
Gleams sudden thro' the awful shade!
By their lost hues more hideous made;
While, only left, an early tomb
Gleams sudden thro' the awful shade!
Less painful far were dull despair,
Without one spark delusive giv'n,
To flash amid the cells of care,
Or snatch a fading glimpse of heav'n.
Without one spark delusive giv'n,
To flash amid the cells of care,
Or snatch a fading glimpse of heav'n.
Less injur'd the insensate breast,
That ne'er one ardent pang can know;
That deems each social call a jest,
And slumbers o'er the tale of woe.
That ne'er one ardent pang can know;
That deems each social call a jest,
And slumbers o'er the tale of woe.
Like some poor pilgrim, faint and frail,
When lonely eve comes darkling on,
Still forc'd to tread life's thorny vale,
Nor view the tedious travel done.
When lonely eve comes darkling on,
Still forc'd to tread life's thorny vale,
Nor view the tedious travel done.
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To hang on hope's pale setting ray,
To hear in ev'ry breeze a sigh;
To end at last the weary way,
Then disappointment meet—and die!
To hear in ev'ry breeze a sigh;
To end at last the weary way,
Then disappointment meet—and die!
If this, oh! poesy, thy meed,
Whose bosom, sympathy's sole throne,
Must oft for other's anguish bleed,
And ever, ever, for its own:
Whose bosom, sympathy's sole throne,
Must oft for other's anguish bleed,
And ever, ever, for its own:
Quick tear thy sad illusions hence,
(Illusions sad indeed, yet dear!)
Unroot each tender-twining sense,
And freeze on pity's cheek the tear.
(Illusions sad indeed, yet dear!)
Unroot each tender-twining sense,
And freeze on pity's cheek the tear.
Oh! let that cheek be marble cold
To friendship or affection's kiss,
And let each child of song be told
Insensibility is Bliss!
To friendship or affection's kiss,
And let each child of song be told
Insensibility is Bliss!
| The Harp of Erin | |