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Poems

Consisting Of Essays, Lyric, Elegiac, &c. By Thomas Dermody. Written between the 13th and 16th Year of his Age
 

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A POETICAL ADDRESS
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


75

A POETICAL ADDRESS

TO HER EXCELLENCY THE COUNTESS OF WESTMORELAND.

Genius, and Worth, the other day,
By fortune, met upon their way,
And while they wip'd the falling tear,
Thus spoke, in sympathy sincere.
“In vain the lovely Muse inspires,
In vain, she fans her purest fires;
In vain, most amiably gay,
Wildly, forms the sportive lay;
With Honour's ardent dictate burns,
Or, in majestic sorrow mourns;
No Patron views her song with smiles,
No promis'd bliss her care beguiles;
No tuneful pomp of brave renown,
Marks highly her melodious son;

76

No laurel-wreath his brow adorns,
No laurel!—but a wreath of thorns;
Not even his thoughts sublime, can grace
The hapless Poet with a place,
Tho' plodding Wealth 'mid roses lies,
And feeds on gold his doating eyes;
Not all the joy, his labours lend,
Can gain one real, gen'rous friend;
Not”—quick on his golden throne above,
Thus thunder'd forth Imperial Jove:
Hermes, that wretch repining bring,
Who poisons Hope's ambrosian spring
With doubts and fears,—I'll change his story,
And make him own the fool before ye.”
Swift Merc'ry bow'd, and quick convey'd
The pensive mourners from the shade,
While with a frown of wrath sublime,
Jove tax'd them for so bold a crime:
“Say, why so sad, unlucky pair,
Why sunk beneath this load of care;
Why look for patronage in vain,
Or why, of partial Fate, complain?
Can you, a moment, ling'ring stand,
While Bounty points to Westmoreland!
Whose genial favor soon shall shine,
And make Life's path of pleasure thine;

77

See, where She sits in beauteous pride,
Dispensing good on ev'ry side;
Checking pale Sorrow's languid sigh,
Clearing Despair's o'er-clouded eye;
Raising the noble soul from Earth,—”
“I own thy words are true!” said Worth;
“I own it too,” Genius reply'd,
“And on her tender heart rely'd,
Shall pen Jove's candid judgment down—”
He said, and hasted up to town:
And on nature, and sage reflexion,
Lays the whole tale to your inspection.
O! may it meet but some success,
—'Tis mine to wish, 'tis your's to bless!