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] |
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THE RECANTATION.
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 | The Shamrock |  |
141
THE RECANTATION.
AN ODE.
By Love too long depriv'd of Rest,
(Fell Tyrant of the human Breast!)
His Vassal long, and worn with Pain,
Indignant, late, I spurn'd the Chain;
In Verse, in Prose, I sung and swore
No Charms should e'er enslave me more,
Nor Neck, nor Hair, nor Lip, nor Eye,
Again should force one tender Sigh.
(Fell Tyrant of the human Breast!)
His Vassal long, and worn with Pain,
Indignant, late, I spurn'd the Chain;
In Verse, in Prose, I sung and swore
No Charms should e'er enslave me more,
Nor Neck, nor Hair, nor Lip, nor Eye,
Again should force one tender Sigh.
As, taught by Heaven's informing Power,
From every Fruit, and every Flower,
That Nature opens to the View,
The Bee extracts the Nectar-Dew;
A Vagrant thus, and free to change,
From Fair to Fair I vow'd to range,
And part from each, without Regret,
As pleas'd, and happy, as I met.
From every Fruit, and every Flower,
That Nature opens to the View,
The Bee extracts the Nectar-Dew;
A Vagrant thus, and free to change,
From Fair to Fair I vow'd to range,
And part from each, without Regret,
As pleas'd, and happy, as I met.
142
Then Freedom's Praise inspir'd my Tongue,
With Freedom's Praise the Vallies rung,
And every Night, and every Day,
My Heart thus pour'd the enraptur'd Lay:
“My Cares are gone; my Sorrows cease;
“My Breast regains it's wonted Peace;
“And Joy, and Hope, returning, prove
“That Reason is too strong for Love.”
With Freedom's Praise the Vallies rung,
And every Night, and every Day,
My Heart thus pour'd the enraptur'd Lay:
“My Cares are gone; my Sorrows cease;
“My Breast regains it's wonted Peace;
“And Joy, and Hope, returning, prove
“That Reason is too strong for Love.”
Such was my Boast—but, ah! how vain!
How short was Reason's vaunted Reign!
The firm Resolve I form'd ere-while
How weak, oppos'd to Clara's Smile!
Chang'd is the Strain—the Vallies round
With Freedom's Praise no more resound;
But, every Night, and every Day,
My full Heart pours the alter'd Lay.
How short was Reason's vaunted Reign!
The firm Resolve I form'd ere-while
How weak, oppos'd to Clara's Smile!
Chang'd is the Strain—the Vallies round
With Freedom's Praise no more resound;
But, every Night, and every Day,
My full Heart pours the alter'd Lay.
Offended Deity! whose Power
My Rebel Tongue but now forswore,
Accept my Penitence sincere,
My Crime forgive, and grant my Prayer!
Let not thy Slave, condemn'd to mourn,
With unrequited Passion burn;
With Love's soft Thoughts her Breast inspire,
And kindle there an equal Fire!
My Rebel Tongue but now forswore,
Accept my Penitence sincere,
My Crime forgive, and grant my Prayer!
Let not thy Slave, condemn'd to mourn,
With unrequited Passion burn;
With Love's soft Thoughts her Breast inspire,
And kindle there an equal Fire!
It is not Beauty's gaudy Flower,
(The empty Triumph of an Hour)
Nor practis'd Wiles of female Art,
That now subdue my destin'd Heart;
O no!—'Tis Heaven, whose wondrous Hand
A Transcript of itself hath plann'd,
And to each outward Grace hath join'd
Each lovelier Feature of the Mind.
(The empty Triumph of an Hour)
Nor practis'd Wiles of female Art,
That now subdue my destin'd Heart;
O no!—'Tis Heaven, whose wondrous Hand
A Transcript of itself hath plann'd,
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Each lovelier Feature of the Mind.
These Charms shall last, when others fly,
When Roses fade, and Lillies die;
When that dear Eye's declining Beam
It's living Fire no more shall stream:
Blest then, and happy in my Chain,
The Song of Freedom flows in vain;
Nor Reason's harsh Reproof I fear,
For Reason's self is Passion, here.
When Roses fade, and Lillies die;
When that dear Eye's declining Beam
It's living Fire no more shall stream:
Blest then, and happy in my Chain,
The Song of Freedom flows in vain;
Nor Reason's harsh Reproof I fear,
For Reason's self is Passion, here.
O dearer far than Wealth, or Fame!
My daily Thought, my nightly Dream,
If yet no Youth's successful Art,
(Sweet Hope) hath touch'd thy gentle Heart,
If yet no Swain hath bless'd thy Choice,
Indulgent hear thy Damon's Voice;
From Doubts, from Fears, his Bosom free;
And bid him live—for Love, and thee.
My daily Thought, my nightly Dream,
If yet no Youth's successful Art,
(Sweet Hope) hath touch'd thy gentle Heart,
If yet no Swain hath bless'd thy Choice,
Indulgent hear thy Damon's Voice;
From Doubts, from Fears, his Bosom free;
And bid him live—for Love, and thee.
| The Shamrock | |