To a heart so refined, and a sensibility so exquisite, as you possess, any thing that aims at the delineation of the more elegant passions must be agreeable. To any other than a soul feelingly alive all o'er," it will certainly be uninteresting and unengaging; as the only little tint of merit it can claim, is that of aiming at the fine fibres of the sensitive bosom with some small degree of art. It was the trifle of one day; and that day I should look upon as lost, were it not spent in an attempt to please your Ladyship. That it may pass as the memorial of my gratitude to a personage so worthy of it, is the sincere wish of its author. If it should last, it will proclaim your benevolence to a future age; if it cannot survive, the intention it was written for may.
Your Ladyship's humble and sincere servant,
THOMAS DERMODY.
Miserere matris, & preces, placidus, pias
Patiensque recipe, quoque ucelsum, altius
Superi levarunt, mitius lapsos preme.
A TENDER theme I choose. Favoring fair,
Chase from my heart the remnants of despair;
And gild with loveliest looks my votive lay,
While the bright scenes of beauty I display.
But chiefly thou, supreme of every art,
To touch the feeling or to gain the heart,
RAWDON attend; and with propitious smile
The dreaded dangers of my task beguile:
So shall the muse attempt a nobler flight,
And gain perchance the regions of delight;
So shall my bosom glow with purer fire,
And pant for glory while thine eyes inspire.
The cards were gone, piquet and rout no more, And mute the lapdog's bark, and chairman's roar, When sad sighs rending his distracted breast, Henry his guardian spirit thus address'd: "O thou mild minister to all my woe,
Whose heav'nly tears with mine congenial flow,
Whose hand of down my aching forehead smoothes,
Whose silver tongue my lonely musing soothes;
O thou, whate'er thy birth, whate'er thy name!
With patient ear await a lover's claim;
With wonted heat support his drooping form,
And all the agonies of grief disarm ;
While to thy melting breast he pleads his cause,
And pleads by fond affection's moving laws.
"Full well you know the dear relentless fair
That caus'd, but still denies to lull, my care;
Full well you know her beauty's matchless grace,
And all the sweet destructions of her face;
Full well you know the flame that mines my peace."
"Unhappy youth, thy sad complainings cease.
Lo! to thy wish for ever prompt I stand,
And wait with beating bosom thy demand.
Nor let thy manly fortitude decay
In midnight mournings, and in sighs by day;
For thou the haughty belle, or soon or late,
(So 'tis enrolled in the book of Fate)
Shalt clasp compliant to thy blissful arms;
And clasp for ever, free from all alarms.
What though no toast was ever half so proud,
No belle so distant to the humble crowd;
What though no birth-night ball, with wond'ring eye,
E'er view'd so fair a truant from the sky;
(For sure earth's mold was all too rough to claim · The undulating model of her frame);
What though no heiress owns a richer coach ?
Proceed with courage to the bold approach.
Let Ton in glitt'ring fetters chain her mind;
Let Folly wen her sight, to toys inclin'd;
Let Gaming draw her with a potent card;
Let tempting tissues gain her strict regard ;
Toys, fetters, cards, and tissues, bind in vain :
Still you shall master of her heart remain.
Gewgaws awhile may 'witch the female sight,
But love alone can give a true delight.
Think you the jewell'd vest, embroider'd fine,
Can give the breast love's genial glow divine ? ·
For which would Musidora's feelings fret,
A faithful heart, or a gold coronet ?
Or are the ties of Nature to compare
With a gilt chariot, and a Flanders mare?
Perchance the venal maid, that strives to please
Some ancient baronet with artful ease;
And as the vapours of his age disperse ;
Smiles in his face, and ogles at-his purse;
She, she, indeed, may an exalted fate
Prefer to comfort and, a small estate :
But, lo! the rosy clouds of morning break,
And gay Tithona shews her purple cheek:
All elfens now the mushroom board forsake,
To seek the mazy dell and tangled brake;
With speed their acorn-goblets now conceal,
And trip the dewy grass with pearly heel :
I must away; the lark's shrill bugle sounds
'All faery elves toward frequented grounds.'
Ye airy vassals of my sov'reign sway, Where'er ye wander wild, or sportive stray; Whether the soft gales court your floating forms, Or Pity calls you in the midst of storms; My voice attend; that voice by all obey'd, And wing your flight to this distinguish'd maid. Some through each nerve the thrill of rapture wind, Some point the keen sensations of her mind, Some stretch the filmy texture of her train; The swift blood pours through each meand'ring vein, The roseate tincture of the cheek combine,
The eye-glance burnish with a beam divine,
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