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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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134

TO AN ABSENT MISTRESS.

To thee I raise my tearful eye;
Toward thee I waft the pensive sigh;
For thee I cherish in my heart
The source of bliss—Love's honied dart;
The source of pain—Love's arrow keen,
Since woe consumes when thou'rt unseen.
O! come, the cruel spell destroy;
Awake my mind to heavenly joy;
Come, and my falt'ring soul shall prove
How much I feel—how much I love.