 | Miscellaneous poems |  |
CANTO I.
I sing the Pleasures of the Rural Throng,
And mimick Wars, as yet unknown to Song,
Whilst on weak Wings uncommon Flights I soar,
And lead the Muse thro' Tracts untry'd before;
Ye Sylvan Maids, be present to my Lays,
Inspire my Numbers, and my Fancy raise.
And mimick Wars, as yet unknown to Song,
Whilst on weak Wings uncommon Flights I soar,
And lead the Muse thro' Tracts untry'd before;
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Inspire my Numbers, and my Fancy raise.
The distant Sun, now shoots a feeble Ray,
And warms with fainter Beams the fading Day;
Now cooler Breezes fan the sultry Glade,
And waving Trees project a longer Shade;
When on a wide Extent of level Ground,
Which spreading Groves and rising Hillocks bound,
The num'rous Crowd, with Wonder and Delight,
At once confound, and entertain the Sight.
Here Troops of Horsemen throng the vary'd Scene,
Or view the Goal, or gallop o'er the Green.
There jolly Rusticks, in their best Array,
Impatient for the Sport, the Field survey.
Tir'd with preceding Mirth, the buxom Lass
Reclines her weary'd Limbs upon the Grass;
There laid at Ease, receives her Lover's Treats,
Or makes new Conquests, or old Vows repeats,
Some laugh and chat, some dance, while others run,
But all agree to wish the Sport begun.
And warms with fainter Beams the fading Day;
Now cooler Breezes fan the sultry Glade,
And waving Trees project a longer Shade;
When on a wide Extent of level Ground,
Which spreading Groves and rising Hillocks bound,
The num'rous Crowd, with Wonder and Delight,
At once confound, and entertain the Sight.
Here Troops of Horsemen throng the vary'd Scene,
Or view the Goal, or gallop o'er the Green.
There jolly Rusticks, in their best Array,
Impatient for the Sport, the Field survey.
Tir'd with preceding Mirth, the buxom Lass
Reclines her weary'd Limbs upon the Grass;
There laid at Ease, receives her Lover's Treats,
Or makes new Conquests, or old Vows repeats,
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But all agree to wish the Sport begun.
At length Old Hobbinol the Crowd address'd,
And Words like these, with sounding Voice express'd;
Attend ye lusty Swains assembled here,
Ye Men of Soards, and ye of Lusk, give Ear;
Who e'er would try their Fortune at the Ball,
And bravely conquer, or as bravely fall:
Six Holland Caps, (the Victor's lawful Prize,)
With Ribbands bound, here wave before your Eyes,
Tho' such as win, immortal Honour gain,
Yet shall the Vanquish'd not contend in vain;
Of Gloves full twice three Pair, a Gift as great,
Shall help to reconcile them to their Fate.
Besides our 'Squire, the Conq'rours Hearts to cheer,
Will treat them with a Cask of humming Beer.
View here my Lads, the Prizes you may win,
So—Save the King—and let the Game begin.
And Words like these, with sounding Voice express'd;
Attend ye lusty Swains assembled here,
Ye Men of Soards, and ye of Lusk, give Ear;
Who e'er would try their Fortune at the Ball,
And bravely conquer, or as bravely fall:
Six Holland Caps, (the Victor's lawful Prize,)
With Ribbands bound, here wave before your Eyes,
Tho' such as win, immortal Honour gain,
Yet shall the Vanquish'd not contend in vain;
Of Gloves full twice three Pair, a Gift as great,
Shall help to reconcile them to their Fate.
Besides our 'Squire, the Conq'rours Hearts to cheer,
Will treat them with a Cask of humming Beer.
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So—Save the King—and let the Game begin.
When Lo! Six Men of Soards (a goodly Sight!)
Their active Limbs, all loosely clad in White,
Move tow'rds the Barrier with a sprightly Pace,
A joyful Pride sat smiling on each Face;
A Crimson Ribband, trimly ty'd behind,
Hung from each Cap, and wanton'd in the Wind.
Their active Limbs, all loosely clad in White,
Move tow'rds the Barrier with a sprightly Pace,
A joyful Pride sat smiling on each Face;
A Crimson Ribband, trimly ty'd behind,
Hung from each Cap, and wanton'd in the Wind.
Young Terence led the Van; a blither Swain,
Ne'er charm'd with tuneful Song the neighb'ring Plain;
Than him none better skill'd his Flocks to feed,
The Sires to fatten, or increase the Breed;
To crop the woolly Fleece with artful Care,
Or from his Fold the wily Fox to scare.
Ne'er charm'd with tuneful Song the neighb'ring Plain;
Than him none better skill'd his Flocks to feed,
The Sires to fatten, or increase the Breed;
To crop the woolly Fleece with artful Care,
Or from his Fold the wily Fox to scare.
Mov'd by no Thirst of Gain, he seeks the Prize;
No sordid Passions in his Bosom rise;
All that he hopes his Labours to beguile,
Is from bright Norah one approving Smile;
Norah with Pleasure view'd the gallant Youth,
Proud of his Love, yet grateful for his Truth;
And sure severest Censure might excuse,
The Fair One's Pride, when so much Merit sues:
In Country Weeds the lovely Nymph was drest,
A flow'ry Chaplet deck'd her snowy Breast,
Of new blown Roses she compos'd the Wreath,
Fresh as her Face, and fragrant as her Breath:
Terence on her his watchful Eyes had set,
And as he gaz'd, their changing Glances met;
Amaz'd, confus'd—she strove to look around,
Then fix'd her modest Eyes upon the Ground;
The sudden Blush which o'er her Visage came,
At once display'd her Beauty and her Shame.
No sordid Passions in his Bosom rise;
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Is from bright Norah one approving Smile;
Norah with Pleasure view'd the gallant Youth,
Proud of his Love, yet grateful for his Truth;
And sure severest Censure might excuse,
The Fair One's Pride, when so much Merit sues:
In Country Weeds the lovely Nymph was drest,
A flow'ry Chaplet deck'd her snowy Breast,
Of new blown Roses she compos'd the Wreath,
Fresh as her Face, and fragrant as her Breath:
Terence on her his watchful Eyes had set,
And as he gaz'd, their changing Glances met;
Amaz'd, confus'd—she strove to look around,
Then fix'd her modest Eyes upon the Ground;
The sudden Blush which o'er her Visage came,
At once display'd her Beauty and her Shame.
O happy Youth, how envy'd is thy State,
How like our Passions? How unlike our Fate?
For Love you play, nor covet empty Praise,
For Love I sing, nor grasp at barren Bays;
But yet (O dire Reverse) you both obtain,
Whilst wretched I lament my fruitless Pain.
How like our Passions? How unlike our Fate?
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For Love I sing, nor grasp at barren Bays;
But yet (O dire Reverse) you both obtain,
Whilst wretched I lament my fruitless Pain.
O were my Lays, like thy Diversions, gay,
Or were I skill'd in Song, as thou in Play;
Then might I hope Muslinda's Breast to move,
And make my Fame immortal, as my Love.
Or were I skill'd in Song, as thou in Play;
Then might I hope Muslinda's Breast to move,
And make my Fame immortal, as my Love.
Two Brothers next of equal Size came on,
The Elder Darby, and the Younger John:
For Singing This, and That for Dancing fam'd,
This ne'er was rude, and That was ne'er asham'd;
Both swift of Foot, in artful Grappling skill'd,
Born on the Confines of the fatal Field.
The Elder Darby, and the Younger John:
For Singing This, and That for Dancing fam'd,
This ne'er was rude, and That was ne'er asham'd;
Both swift of Foot, in artful Grappling skill'd,
Born on the Confines of the fatal Field.
The next to these in Place was sturdy Hugh,
His Sinews tougher than the twanging Yew,
Far hence on Wicklow's steepy Mountains bred,
With strength'ning Pig-nuts, and Potatoes fed;
But now (so Fate ordain'd) our better Cheer
Has charm'd the wand'ring Wight, and fix'd him here.
His Sinews tougher than the twanging Yew,
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With strength'ning Pig-nuts, and Potatoes fed;
But now (so Fate ordain'd) our better Cheer
Has charm'd the wand'ring Wight, and fix'd him here.
How shall I, Felim, thy just Praise set forth?
Words can but faintly represent thy Worth;
Tho' Three Times Twenty rolling Years have shed
Their hoary Honours on thy Rev'rend Head,
Entellus-like, thou could'st not brook to stay,
A bare Spectator on this glorious Day;
Practice and Years to thee the Knack impart,
To shift with Cunning, and to trip with Art.
Words can but faintly represent thy Worth;
Tho' Three Times Twenty rolling Years have shed
Their hoary Honours on thy Rev'rend Head,
Entellus-like, thou could'st not brook to stay,
A bare Spectator on this glorious Day;
Practice and Years to thee the Knack impart,
To shift with Cunning, and to trip with Art.
Last Daniel came, to
Oxman-Town long known,
In many a well-fought Field his Skill was shown;
At good Defence his chiefest Talent lay,
His prudent Conduct oft retriev'd the Day.
In many a well-fought Field his Skill was shown;
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His prudent Conduct oft retriev'd the Day.
Before them march'd (and as he march'd he play'd)
Ventoso in his newest Weeds array'd;
From Leathern Baggs he squeez'd a grateful Tone,
Which Humming issued thro' the Concave Drone.
This wooden Tube (as ancient Bards have sung)
From the same Hills, which Eccho to it, sprung;
Old Murtagh first (to him it owes its Rise)
Thereon aloft display'd the Champions Prize;
From which, thro' various Offices it run,
'Till made a Broom-staff by his eldest Son;
Next as a Crutch, when worn with Years, he bends,
To our Ventoso's crippled Sire descends;
Who, dying, left (and bid him keep with Care)
This only Pledge to his afflicted Heir:
Pleas'd with the Gift, he first with Iv'ry bound,
Then bor'd a Passage for the tuneful Sound.
And now once more it cheers the Champions Hearts,
A joyful Vigour to each Youth imparts,
And fires with Ardour, to obtain the Prize:
It's Notes, tho' sweet, were drown'd in shriller Cries,
Loud Acclamations fill the spacious Round,
Whilst distant Rocks repeat the gladsome Sound.
Ventoso in his newest Weeds array'd;
From Leathern Baggs he squeez'd a grateful Tone,
Which Humming issued thro' the Concave Drone.
This wooden Tube (as ancient Bards have sung)
From the same Hills, which Eccho to it, sprung;
Old Murtagh first (to him it owes its Rise)
Thereon aloft display'd the Champions Prize;
From which, thro' various Offices it run,
'Till made a Broom-staff by his eldest Son;
Next as a Crutch, when worn with Years, he bends,
To our Ventoso's crippled Sire descends;
Who, dying, left (and bid him keep with Care)
This only Pledge to his afflicted Heir:
Pleas'd with the Gift, he first with Iv'ry bound,
Then bor'd a Passage for the tuneful Sound.
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A joyful Vigour to each Youth imparts,
And fires with Ardour, to obtain the Prize:
It's Notes, tho' sweet, were drown'd in shriller Cries,
Loud Acclamations fill the spacious Round,
Whilst distant Rocks repeat the gladsome Sound.
On t'other Hand, the Green begins to clear,
And see six lusty Lads of Lusk appear;
Supple their Sinews are, their Bodies light,
Their Aspects chearful, and their Dresses white;
A Ribbon in his Cap, of Azure Hue,
Distinguish'd each bold Champion to the View.
And see six lusty Lads of Lusk appear;
Supple their Sinews are, their Bodies light,
Their Aspects chearful, and their Dresses white;
A Ribbon in his Cap, of Azure Hue,
Distinguish'd each bold Champion to the View.
With these young Paddy holds the foremost Place,
In Shape to none inferior, or in Face;
In Gardens bred, Herbs were his choicest Fare,
And Flora made him her peculiar Care;
Fond of inglorious Ease he shun'd the Green,
Nor ever was at Rural Pastimes seen,
Nor with Heroick Sentiments inspir'd,
'Till Norah's lovely Eyes his Bosom fir'd.
Desist, vain Youth, thy hapless Fate to learn,
The Gods are just, and Norah can discern:
The Gods to more Desert decree the Prize,
And Form to Merit yields in Norah's Eyes.
In Shape to none inferior, or in Face;
In Gardens bred, Herbs were his choicest Fare,
And Flora made him her peculiar Care;
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Nor ever was at Rural Pastimes seen,
Nor with Heroick Sentiments inspir'd,
'Till Norah's lovely Eyes his Bosom fir'd.
Desist, vain Youth, thy hapless Fate to learn,
The Gods are just, and Norah can discern:
The Gods to more Desert decree the Prize,
And Form to Merit yields in Norah's Eyes.
Him follow'd Kit, near Nanny Water bred;
But now, by Thirst of Reputation led,
A Denizen of Lusk; none better skill'd,
To crop with dextrous Art the waving Field,
To ted the Grass upon the new-shorn Plain,
Or from the well-crush'd Ear expel the Grain.
But now, by Thirst of Reputation led,
A Denizen of Lusk; none better skill'd,
To crop with dextrous Art the waving Field,
To ted the Grass upon the new-shorn Plain,
Or from the well-crush'd Ear expel the Grain.
Next Neal and Cabe, whom Poverty sent forth
From the bleak Regions of the rugged North,
Wasted with Toils, and starv'd on scanty Oats,
With tatter'd Shirts, and destitute of Coats,
To Lusk they came; but now indulg'd in Ease,
With strength'ning Turnips fed, and fat'ning Pease,
Joyful they trip the Field, and long to show
Their active Courage on so brave a Foe.
From the bleak Regions of the rugged North,
Wasted with Toils, and starv'd on scanty Oats,
With tatter'd Shirts, and destitute of Coats,
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With strength'ning Turnips fed, and fat'ning Pease,
Joyful they trip the Field, and long to show
Their active Courage on so brave a Foe.
Le'nard succeeds, for Strength and Skill renown'd,
No Wight like him in all Fingal is found,
So swift to gain, and firm to keep his Ground.
No Wight like him in all Fingal is found,
So swift to gain, and firm to keep his Ground.
See surly Dick, the Miller, last appear,
And with a gloomy Look, bring up the Rear;
Nor fir'd with Pleasure, nor with Danger aw'd,
Strong were his knitted Limbs, his Shoulders broad;
Few better skill'd than him to play the Game,
Or toss the Football with a surer Aim.
And with a gloomy Look, bring up the Rear;
Nor fir'd with Pleasure, nor with Danger aw'd,
Strong were his knitted Limbs, his Shoulders broad;
Few better skill'd than him to play the Game,
Or toss the Football with a surer Aim.
Hail'd by no friendly Voice, they take their Stand,
No prosp'rous Omens chear the luckless Band;
Before them struts, and with his thruming Song,
Uninterrupted charms the list'ning Throng,
Old Tim,—supported by one Leg of Wood;
Yet tho' his Limbs were maim'd, his Heart was good:
Of Hounds and Foxes, he could Fights rehearse,
And sing Saint Patrick's Praise, in Splay-foot Verse;
Whole Fights and Sieges, to his Song could joyn,
And tell Old Tales of Aughrum and the Boyn.
No prosp'rous Omens chear the luckless Band;
Before them struts, and with his thruming Song,
Uninterrupted charms the list'ning Throng,
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Yet tho' his Limbs were maim'd, his Heart was good:
Of Hounds and Foxes, he could Fights rehearse,
And sing Saint Patrick's Praise, in Splay-foot Verse;
Whole Fights and Sieges, to his Song could joyn,
And tell Old Tales of Aughrum and the Boyn.
| Miscellaneous poems | |