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] |
 |
 |
|
|
| I. |
| II. | ELEGY II. In ANSWER to the FOREGOING. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | The Shamrock |  |
136
ELEGY II. In ANSWER to the FOREGOING.
Warm from the Soul, and faithful to its Fires.
Pope's Eloisa to Abelard.
Pope's Eloisa to Abelard.
Thou, whom long since I number'd for my own,
To whose kind View, in Life's first happy Days,
Each young Ambition of my Heart was known,
For Fame my Ardour, and my Love of Ease,
To whose kind View, in Life's first happy Days,
Each young Ambition of my Heart was known,
For Fame my Ardour, and my Love of Ease,
Say, wilt thou pardon, that a while I thought
(The Thought how vain!) my Feelings to disguise?
Too well thou knew'st, by Myra's Lessons taught,
The Soul's soft Language, and the Voice of Eyes:
(The Thought how vain!) my Feelings to disguise?
Too well thou knew'st, by Myra's Lessons taught,
The Soul's soft Language, and the Voice of Eyes:
Thou knew'st—perhaps, ere to myself 'twas known—
Th'impatient Struggling of the Sigh supprest;
And early saw'st, instructed by thy own,
The infant Passion kindling in my Breast.
Th'impatient Struggling of the Sigh supprest;
And early saw'st, instructed by thy own,
The infant Passion kindling in my Breast.
“No longer, then, I'll seek to hide my Pain,
“No longer blush the Secret to impart;”
The Mask, which wrong'd thy Friendship, I disdain;
“And boast the graceful Weakness of my Heart.”
“No longer blush the Secret to impart;”
The Mask, which wrong'd thy Friendship, I disdain;
“And boast the graceful Weakness of my Heart.”
137
Nor shall the jealous God with Hand severe
Afflict his Vassal, though a Rebel long;
Already hath he breath'd the humble Prayer,
And pour'd already the repentant Song.
Afflict his Vassal, though a Rebel long;
Already hath he breath'd the humble Prayer,
And pour'd already the repentant Song.
But, ah! in vain his Art the Poet tries,
The Power of Numbers he exerts in vain;
The Maid regards them with unconscious Eyes,
And hears, but will not understand, the Strain.
The Power of Numbers he exerts in vain;
The Maid regards them with unconscious Eyes,
And hears, but will not understand, the Strain.
Yet hath she seen—for Nothing could conceal—
The wild Emotions of his labouring Breast;
The fond Attention that devour'd her Tale;
The Hand that trembled, when her Hand it prest:
The wild Emotions of his labouring Breast;
The fond Attention that devour'd her Tale;
The Hand that trembled, when her Hand it prest:
While his pleas'd Ear upon her Accents hung,
Oft hath she mark'd th'involuntary Sigh,
Love's “broken Murmurs” forming on his Tongue,
And Love's warm Rapture starting to his Eye.
Oft hath she mark'd th'involuntary Sigh,
Love's “broken Murmurs” forming on his Tongue,
And Love's warm Rapture starting to his Eye.
And she hath seen him whelm'd in bitterest Woe,
When her Frown spoke some Error unforgiven;
And she hath seen each kindling Feature glow,
When her Smile chear'd him with a Gleam of Heaven.
When her Frown spoke some Error unforgiven;
And she hath seen each kindling Feature glow,
When her Smile chear'd him with a Gleam of Heaven.
But, when in Verse he breathes his amorous Care,
(As if she knew not what to all is known)
His Art she praises, but neglects his Prayer,
Nor deems the Poet, or the Verse, her own.
(As if she knew not what to all is known)
His Art she praises, but neglects his Prayer,
Nor deems the Poet, or the Verse, her own.
Say, then, O say (for, sure, thou know'st full well
Each tender Thought with happiest Skill to dress)
His Heart's strong Feelings how his Tongue shall tell!
How speak—what Language never can express!
Each tender Thought with happiest Skill to dress)
His Heart's strong Feelings how his Tongue shall tell!
How speak—what Language never can express!
138
Teach him those Arts that did thy Suit commend,
When Love first prompted Myra to be kind;
And, that those Arts may prosper, let thy Friend
His Love's soft Advocate in Myra find.
When Love first prompted Myra to be kind;
And, that those Arts may prosper, let thy Friend
His Love's soft Advocate in Myra find.
Then, while the happy Means thy Lesson shews
To win the Maid his Passion to approve,
Then Myra shall recount—for Myra knows—
What Blessings are in Store for those that love:
To win the Maid his Passion to approve,
Then Myra shall recount—for Myra knows—
What Blessings are in Store for those that love:
Myra shall tell her, that from Love alone
Flows the pure Spring of Happiness sincere;
And Love, with Power to Lovers only known,
Doubles each Joy, and lessens every Care:
Flows the pure Spring of Happiness sincere;
And Love, with Power to Lovers only known,
Doubles each Joy, and lessens every Care:
And each warm Transport of her conscious Heart,
And each fair Hope, that doth her State attend,
With generous Ardour Myra shall impart,
And point her own Example to her Friend:
And each fair Hope, that doth her State attend,
With generous Ardour Myra shall impart,
And point her own Example to her Friend:
And if her Sense shall Damon's Claim approve,
And if her Candour deem his Vows sincere,
Her Tongue shall speak the Interest of his Love,
Her gentle Eloquence enforce his Prayer:
And if her Candour deem his Vows sincere,
Her Tongue shall speak the Interest of his Love,
Her gentle Eloquence enforce his Prayer:
And all that tenderest Pity can suggest,
And each soft Argument her Thought can find,
Myra shall urge—O! be her Pleading blest!—
To win her fair Companion to be kind:
And each soft Argument her Thought can find,
Myra shall urge—O! be her Pleading blest!—
To win her fair Companion to be kind:
And when—for Friendship must not pass them o'er—
She gives the Frailties of his Youth to Sight,
O! may her Pencil place—he asks no more—
Each little Merit in the fairest Light!
She gives the Frailties of his Youth to Sight,
O! may her Pencil place—he asks no more—
Each little Merit in the fairest Light!
139
Clara, perchance, may learn to love an Heart,
(Proud though the Boast, it is an honest Pride)
Where nothing selfish ever claim'd a Part,
Which owns no Purpose it should wish to hide:
(Proud though the Boast, it is an honest Pride)
Where nothing selfish ever claim'd a Part,
Which owns no Purpose it should wish to hide:
Warm with the Love of Virtue and Mankind,
At others' Bliss where social Feelings glow;
And where, when Sorrow wrings the worthy Mind,
The Tear is ready for another's Woe:
At others' Bliss where social Feelings glow;
And where, when Sorrow wrings the worthy Mind,
The Tear is ready for another's Woe:
This Praise the Youth is fond to call his own;
No higher Worth he seeks, his Claim to grace;
His Hope he builds upon his Love alone,
And his Love stands on Reason's solid Base:
No higher Worth he seeks, his Claim to grace;
His Hope he builds upon his Love alone,
And his Love stands on Reason's solid Base:
No sudden Blaze, the Meteor of a Day,
It's transient Splendour o'er his Heart doth pour;
Kindled at Virtue's Fire, the steady Ray
Shall shine through Life, and gild it's latest Hour.
It's transient Splendour o'er his Heart doth pour;
Kindled at Virtue's Fire, the steady Ray
Shall shine through Life, and gild it's latest Hour.
If such an Heart can please, if such a Flame
With kindred Ardour can inspire her Breast,
His first Ambition hath obtain'd its Aim—
To Heaven and Fortune he commits the Rest.
With kindred Ardour can inspire her Breast,
His first Ambition hath obtain'd its Aim—
To Heaven and Fortune he commits the Rest.
But, if, regardless of the honest Prayer,
The Maid, unpitying, on his Love should frown;
If Fate's worst Shock the Youth is doom'd to bear,
Each Prospect darken'd, and each Hope o'erthrown;
The Maid, unpitying, on his Love should frown;
If Fate's worst Shock the Youth is doom'd to bear,
Each Prospect darken'd, and each Hope o'erthrown;
Too humbly fearful of the all-ruling Power
To strike the Blow that sets the Spirit free,
Prison'd in Life, he'll wait the appointed Hour,
And, patient, bend him to the hard Decree:
To strike the Blow that sets the Spirit free,
Prison'd in Life, he'll wait the appointed Hour,
And, patient, bend him to the hard Decree:
140
Yet ne'er (however shifts the varying Scene)
Shall her dear Image from his Mind depart;
Still fresh the lov'd Idea shall remain,
Warm in each Pulse, and woven with his Heart:
Shall her dear Image from his Mind depart;
Still fresh the lov'd Idea shall remain,
Warm in each Pulse, and woven with his Heart:
Unchang'd through Life, still anxious for her Peace,
For her to Heaven his daily Prayer shall rise;
And, when kind Fate shall grant the wish'd Release,
His last weak Breath shall bless her as it flies:
For her to Heaven his daily Prayer shall rise;
And, when kind Fate shall grant the wish'd Release,
His last weak Breath shall bless her as it flies:
Then, when in Earth's cold Womb his Limbs are laid,
(For, sure, her Servant's Fall shall reach her Ear)
Clara, perchance, will sigh, and grant his Shade
The kind Compassion of a pious Tear:
(For, sure, her Servant's Fall shall reach her Ear)
Clara, perchance, will sigh, and grant his Shade
The kind Compassion of a pious Tear:
Yes—she will weep—for gentle is her Breast—
Though his Love pleas'd not, she will mourn his Doom;
And, haply, when with Flowers his Grave is dress'd,
Her Hand may plant a Myrtle o'er his Tomb.
Though his Love pleas'd not, she will mourn his Doom;
And, haply, when with Flowers his Grave is dress'd,
Her Hand may plant a Myrtle o'er his Tomb.
This Meed, at least, his Service may demand;
This—and 'tis all he asks—his Truth may claim:
No breathing Marble o'er his Dust shall stand;
No storied Urn shall celebrate his Name:
This—and 'tis all he asks—his Truth may claim:
No breathing Marble o'er his Dust shall stand;
No storied Urn shall celebrate his Name:
Enough for him, that, where his Ashes lie,
When kindred Spirits shall at Times repair,
The prosperous Youth shall cast a pitying Eye;
The slighted Virgin pour her Sorrows there:
When kindred Spirits shall at Times repair,
The prosperous Youth shall cast a pitying Eye;
The slighted Virgin pour her Sorrows there:
Enough for him, that, pointing to his Stone,
The sad old Man his Story shall relate,
Then smite his Breast, and wish, with many a Groan,
No Child of his may meet so hard a Fate.
The sad old Man his Story shall relate,
Then smite his Breast, and wish, with many a Groan,
No Child of his may meet so hard a Fate.
| The Shamrock | |