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 Shamrock |  |
411
LETTER VIII.
Ah! wretched Maid! those heart-felt Sighs forbear!
Why trickles thus the unavailing Tear?
Too well, I know, these Sighs must rise in vain;
Too true, these Tears unpity'd must complain:
Oh! could my Soul, endu'd with proper Pride,
Its Love, its Grief, its Indignation hide!
But burst it will; my Patience can no more:
But, to what Friend? whose Aid can I implore?
My Brain's disturb'd; alas! alas! I rave;
What can I do? a poor forsaken Slave!
Like Birds, that spend their little idle Rage,
And, fruitless, mourn, indignant of their Cage,
From Thought to Thought, my fluttering Spirits rove,
Betray'd to Bondage, and, ah! lost to Love.
Why did the hasty Messenger return
With such Dispatch, for hapless me to mourn?
Curs'd be the Wretch that brought the Tidings here,
Whose blasting Tale, like Thunder, sought my Ear;
Curs'd be the Day, when I was doom'd to see
My Husband's Heart, estrang'd from widow'd me;
Curs'd be that Face, whose more persuasive Charms
Have lur'd the faithless Aza to her Arms.
Why trickles thus the unavailing Tear?
Too well, I know, these Sighs must rise in vain;
Too true, these Tears unpity'd must complain:
Oh! could my Soul, endu'd with proper Pride,
Its Love, its Grief, its Indignation hide!
But burst it will; my Patience can no more:
But, to what Friend? whose Aid can I implore?
My Brain's disturb'd; alas! alas! I rave;
What can I do? a poor forsaken Slave!
Like Birds, that spend their little idle Rage,
And, fruitless, mourn, indignant of their Cage,
From Thought to Thought, my fluttering Spirits rove,
Betray'd to Bondage, and, ah! lost to Love.
Why did the hasty Messenger return
With such Dispatch, for hapless me to mourn?
Curs'd be the Wretch that brought the Tidings here,
Whose blasting Tale, like Thunder, sought my Ear;
Curs'd be the Day, when I was doom'd to see
My Husband's Heart, estrang'd from widow'd me;
Curs'd be that Face, whose more persuasive Charms
Have lur'd the faithless Aza to her Arms.
Can'st thou presume, unpunish'd, to begin
Thy new Belief with such a flagrant Sin?
Can'st thou, with all thy Crimes upon thy Head,
Approach the new-sought Shrine without a Dread?
Can Christian Gods of perjur'd Vows approve?
Can Vows, once perjur'd, charm a Maid to love?
The specious Sophistry of Priests has drawn
Thy wavering Heart from me, and from the Sun:
Their barren Promises such Hopes have given
Of present Freedom, and a future Heaven;
If to their Notions, willing, you subscribe,
Thy Soul is dazzled with the mighty Bribe.
First, by these Methods, you abjure your Throne;
Can'st thou be free, when Royalty is gone?
Peruvia's Realms, where thou wert once ador'd,
Must yield Obedience to a foreign Lord:
Go, boast your Freedom, foolish Man! but, still,
You breathe dependant on your Tyrant's Will.
Can'st thou, unconscious of a Blush, behold
The Spaniard shine in thy once-subject Gold?
Or, from his Hands, contentedly, receive
The scanty Portion, which he deigns to give?
Then, for those Scenes that crafty Priests devise,
The least Reflection shames the thin Disguise:
Not thy Hereafter, but their own Applause
For thy Conversion, is the real Cause;
In thee, reform'd, their Excellence is shewn;
They grant thee Merit, to enhance their own.
Has gracious Providence its Power consign'd
To these pale Wretches, over Human-kind?
Who can believe, that Men, of mortal Mould,
Can grant, refuse, or barter Heaven for Gold?
These will absolve you from your sacred Vow,
That once you swore, but, oh! abjur'd it now;
They'll call it Virtue, Piety, to break
A Pagan Vow for their Religion's Sake:
Nor will suffice this Circumstance alone;
A Christian Wife confirms you all their own.
Thy new Belief with such a flagrant Sin?
Can'st thou, with all thy Crimes upon thy Head,
Approach the new-sought Shrine without a Dread?
412
Can Vows, once perjur'd, charm a Maid to love?
The specious Sophistry of Priests has drawn
Thy wavering Heart from me, and from the Sun:
Their barren Promises such Hopes have given
Of present Freedom, and a future Heaven;
If to their Notions, willing, you subscribe,
Thy Soul is dazzled with the mighty Bribe.
First, by these Methods, you abjure your Throne;
Can'st thou be free, when Royalty is gone?
Peruvia's Realms, where thou wert once ador'd,
Must yield Obedience to a foreign Lord:
Go, boast your Freedom, foolish Man! but, still,
You breathe dependant on your Tyrant's Will.
Can'st thou, unconscious of a Blush, behold
The Spaniard shine in thy once-subject Gold?
Or, from his Hands, contentedly, receive
The scanty Portion, which he deigns to give?
Then, for those Scenes that crafty Priests devise,
The least Reflection shames the thin Disguise:
Not thy Hereafter, but their own Applause
For thy Conversion, is the real Cause;
In thee, reform'd, their Excellence is shewn;
They grant thee Merit, to enhance their own.
Has gracious Providence its Power consign'd
To these pale Wretches, over Human-kind?
Who can believe, that Men, of mortal Mould,
Can grant, refuse, or barter Heaven for Gold?
These will absolve you from your sacred Vow,
That once you swore, but, oh! abjur'd it now;
They'll call it Virtue, Piety, to break
A Pagan Vow for their Religion's Sake:
Nor will suffice this Circumstance alone;
A Christian Wife confirms you all their own.
413
The warring Passions in my Breast confound
My weaken'd Reason, and my Brain turns round.
Hold, let me think, is 't not exceeding strange,
To see how prone we Mortals are to change?
A Christian, too; but let me not upbraid
The brighter Beauties of that happier Maid;
She from Perdition can relieve your Soul:
Yet, who'll deny but Perjury is foul?
My weaken'd Reason, and my Brain turns round.
Hold, let me think, is 't not exceeding strange,
To see how prone we Mortals are to change?
A Christian, too; but let me not upbraid
The brighter Beauties of that happier Maid;
She from Perdition can relieve your Soul:
Yet, who'll deny but Perjury is foul?
Forgive me, Sir, the mighty Conflict's past;
And Rage subsides within my plaintive Breast.
Art thou inconstant? Are we doom'd to part?
Am I an outcast Alien from your Heart?
Am I, for ever, oh! heart-breaking Word!
For ever torn from my remorseless Lord?
Does not one Spark of Charity remain?
Shall I ne'er see that much-lov'd Face again?
Oh! could'st thou guess what agonizing Smart
Even now torments my love-afflicted Heart,
Thy generous Soul would sympathize with mine,
And all my Horrors be adopted thine.
How we have lov'd, the almighty Powers can prove,
Who once beheld us bless'd with mutual Love.
Dost thou remember on the sacred Floor,
When on your Knees eternal Love you swore?
My tender Heart an equal Ardour knew,
Receiv'd your Vows, and, ah! believ'd them true:
Did I not burn, with a sincerer Flame,
Than e'er can warm your favourite Spanish Dame?
Even now, my Mind, contemplating your Charms,
Doats on the Man, who fills another's Arms.
Of this no more: And, as my fatal Lot
Is cast to mourn, neglected and forgot,
I only ask the Tribute of a Tear,
When Death shall free me from my sad Despair:
When a desponding Wretch you chance to see,
Rous'd by that Scene, bestow a Thought on me.
And Rage subsides within my plaintive Breast.
Art thou inconstant? Are we doom'd to part?
Am I an outcast Alien from your Heart?
Am I, for ever, oh! heart-breaking Word!
For ever torn from my remorseless Lord?
Does not one Spark of Charity remain?
Shall I ne'er see that much-lov'd Face again?
Oh! could'st thou guess what agonizing Smart
Even now torments my love-afflicted Heart,
Thy generous Soul would sympathize with mine,
And all my Horrors be adopted thine.
How we have lov'd, the almighty Powers can prove,
Who once beheld us bless'd with mutual Love.
Dost thou remember on the sacred Floor,
When on your Knees eternal Love you swore?
My tender Heart an equal Ardour knew,
Receiv'd your Vows, and, ah! believ'd them true:
Did I not burn, with a sincerer Flame,
Than e'er can warm your favourite Spanish Dame?
Even now, my Mind, contemplating your Charms,
Doats on the Man, who fills another's Arms.
Of this no more: And, as my fatal Lot
Is cast to mourn, neglected and forgot,
414
When Death shall free me from my sad Despair:
When a desponding Wretch you chance to see,
Rous'd by that Scene, bestow a Thought on me.
May'st thou, most happy, with my Rival live
In all the Bliss propitious Heaven can give;
May both with Pleasure tread this mortal Stage,
And drop together in a calm old Age;
May blessed Angels waft your Souls to Bliss,
In some new World, on your Release from this;
Be all your Errors in the Grave forgiven;
And all your Virtues rise with you to Heaven.
Now hold, my Heart—Adieu! thou dear-lov'd Lord!
How my Hand trembles at that fatal Word!
Conceive the poignant Horror that I feel;
I faint!—I die!—Eternally farewell!
In all the Bliss propitious Heaven can give;
May both with Pleasure tread this mortal Stage,
And drop together in a calm old Age;
May blessed Angels waft your Souls to Bliss,
In some new World, on your Release from this;
Be all your Errors in the Grave forgiven;
And all your Virtues rise with you to Heaven.
Now hold, my Heart—Adieu! thou dear-lov'd Lord!
How my Hand trembles at that fatal Word!
Conceive the poignant Horror that I feel;
I faint!—I die!—Eternally farewell!
| The Shamrock | |