Rhapsodies :: :: University of Virginia Library

Rhapsodies

By W. H. Ireland

Ireland, W. H. (1777-1835)

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TO THE READER.

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

RHAPSODIES.

ANACREONTIC.

EPIGRAM On a gentleman in fear of bailiffs.

LINES Under the statue of Love, by Voltaire.

POOR POLLY, THE MAD GIRL.

A BALLAD.

LINES.

SOLILOQUY OF A GARRETEER.

EPIGRAM On a known fact.

THE LITTLE RED WOMAN,

SONG—POOR JANE.

EXTEMPORE,

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

THE BASTARD.

THE BASTARD's COMPLAINT.

REPLY TO THE BASTARD's COMPLAINT.

TO A FRIEND,

ODE TO CHARITY.

LINES To the departed Spirit of a Parent.

THE WHITE LADY ;

FRAGMENT.

EPIGRAM On a set of bell ringers.

ON THE HEART,

SEA SONG.

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.

BALLAD.

EPIGRAM On a country judge.

BACCHANALIAN:

THE MISTRESS's QUESTION.

THE LOVER's REPLY.

ON THE DEATH OF A FEMALE FRIEND,

LITTLE JOHN;

ON THE OAK IN PENSHURST PARK,

WILLY, THE FORSAKEN SWAIN.

ANACREONTIC.

THE QUESTION RESOLVED.

LINES From Age to Youth.

PARODY.

CUPID AND THE LOVE-SICK MAID.

EMPLOYMENT FOR A MISTRESS AND A WIFE.

FROM THE FRENCH.

CRAZY TOM, THE BEDLAMITE.

TO A MISTRESS.

FRAGMENT.

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

LITTLE JANE;

TO AN ABSENT MISTRESS.

PARODY.

A LOVER's KISS.

ADVICE OF FRIENDSHIP.

THE LOVER's REPLY.

PARODY.

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.

PARODY.

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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LINES On following a lady with a beautiful turned ancle.

Come, Prudence, guard my truant heart;
Enshield it from Love's fire;
The urchin traitor points his dart,
I feel the soft desire.

How slim, how fair the tender frame,
That caught m' enraptur'd eye;
Oh! had you seen, you could not blame,
Nor bid me check the sigh.

Her fairy form, each grace combin'd,
Her ancle! heavens, how neat!
She seem'd to tread the ambient air,
So light, so small her feet.

Come, Prudence, or thy votary's lost,
The struggle, ah! how vain!
My soul must long be tempest toss'd,
Ere I my peace regain.