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Rhapsodies

By W. H. Ireland

Ireland, W. H. (1777-1835)

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DEDICATED, By Permission, TO LADY HUNLOKE, OF WINGERWORTH, DERBYSHIRE.

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EPIGRAM On a gentleman in fear of bailiffs.

LINES Under the statue of Love, by Voltaire.

POOR POLLY, THE MAD GIRL.

SOLILOQUY OF A GARRETEER.

HYMN TO THE DEITY.

LOVE AND PRUDENCE.

EPIGRAM On a known fact.

THE LITTLE RED WOMAN,

SONG—POOR JANE.

LINES By a Poet, to the object of his idolatry.

THE BASTARD's COMPLAINT.

REPLY TO THE BASTARD's COMPLAINT.

ODE TO CHARITY.

LINES To the departed Spirit of a Parent.

THE WHITE LADY ;

EPIGRAM On a set of bell ringers.

LINES On hearing a person maintain that Man might have been formed less vicious.

EPITAPH, Written at the request of a friend, on his much-lamented wife.

LINES On a happy union.

THE ABBEY PORCH, AND MELANCHOLY MAN'S CONTEMPLATION.

EPIGRAM On a country judge.

THE MISTRESS's QUESTION.

THE LOVER's REPLY.

ON THE DEATH OF A FEMALE FRIEND,

ON THE OAK IN PENSHURST PARK,

WILLY, THE FORSAKEN SWAIN.

THE QUESTION RESOLVED.

LINES From Age to Youth.

CUPID AND THE LOVE-SICK MAID.

EMPLOYMENT FOR A MISTRESS AND A WIFE.

FROM THE FRENCH.

CRAZY TOM, THE BEDLAMITE.

LINES Addressed to a young couple on the celebration of their nuptials.

TO AN ABSENT MISTRESS.

A LOVER's KISS.

ADVICE OF FRIENDSHIP.

THE LOVER's REPLY.

PARODY, In answer to the former.

LINES On following a lady with a beautiful turned ancle.

LINES On hearing a young Lady sing the celebrated mad song composed by Purcell.

BALLAD IMITATED.

LINES To a Mistress, who fled every worldly consideration for him she loved.

FROM THE FRENCH OF VOLTAIRE.

ANSWER, In 1802

A BALLAD, OF EDWARD AND ELGIVA, The Nun of St. Agatha.

LINES Addressed to the admirers of aerial excursions;

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REPLY TO THE BASTARD's COMPLAINT.

Why should the Bastard rail his hapless fate?
The proud in suff'ring are supremely great:
'Tis when oppression would the mind control,
That genius rends the fetters from the soul,
Bursts thro' the barrier of opposing ill,
And proves itself the agent of free-will.
Thou know'st no father's love, no mother's sigh,
No kindred but the fost'ring Power on high;
By one neglected, and the other's shame,
Thy sole inheritance the Bastard's name.
Be such thy lot, and with it rest content;
'Tis Heav'n decrees it—God Omnipotent.
Thou hast no fetter to enchain the soul,
'Tis godlike will each action must control;
'Tis to be more than mortal, more refin'd,
To be in form the man, the God in mind.
Arouse the dormant feelings of thy breast,
In every action stand thyself confess'd;
Mar not the will supreme, but lustrous shine,
Prove thyself foster'd by a God Divine.