Nor thou despise the shepherd's first essay,
Who decks with rigid rules his rural lay;
For though the reed was e'er unwont to sound
The court's gay talents and its gaudy round,
Yet by degrees a nobler note may swell:
First we must meditate, and then excel.
Those who with nice disgust, and envy sharp,
Start at the uncouth tinkling of my harp;
Let them (for such there are) attaint my bays,
And scoff at youthful glory's dawning rays;
Let them the hour of noon-tide radiance wait,
And kneel before the sun that they must hate.
The bard how blameful who neglects himself,
While fed for silence or by pride or pelf;
Who casts the rod of satire quite aside,
And gives to greatness what a god supply'd !
Enough for me (for I defy the great-
I mean the abject vassals of the state),
That princely Rawdon will my lay peruse;
Rawdon, who guards the poet and his muse.
Those great personages, eminent in their respective stations, are too much admired to admit of any peculiar commendation here. They were unwearied patrons of the unfortunate Dermody, while he lived. Their encouragement to genius is admired, but seldom imitated.
Enough for me that Moira deigns to clear,
The clouds of malice magnified by fear;
Which round my head their foul contagion flung,
While party's fiends yell'd louder as I sung.
Enough for me, that you review my toil
With partial warmth, and friendship's glowing smile.
Here let me pay to worth a tribute due :
To Boydt who bade my artless soul pursue
True learning's track, with viny wreaths o'erhung;
Who form'd the first faint accents of my tongue ;~
Who mark'd with classic neatness each weak line,
And bade bold nature's dregs to wit refine.
He the best teacher of the song sublime,
For he himself can " build the lofty rhime."
Nor has his page escap'd the ken of Fame,
His page anneal'd with Alghieri's name.
From Tuscan shores his muse exulting flies,
And draws a train of light aslant the skies;
↑ The reverend Hugh Boyd. The amiable character of this worthy gentleman, deserves as much praise as can be offered to merit and benevolence. Dermody esteemed it one of the happiest circumstances of his life, that he had received (though indeed but for a short time) his instructions, in matters of classical, poetical, and theological tendency. He is the author and translator of many clas sical and esteemed works; and till Dante shall cease to charm, the name of Boyd will be revered by the lovers of poesy.
With fierce Orlando's martial fame returns,
While ev'ry breast with expectation burns.
Again Astolfo's horn shall swell the line;
Again Rinaldo's prowess grow divine;
Again whole turms* display the glitt'ring shield,
And murder stalk o'er Ronscesvallis' field.
Proceed; thou best, last bard, proceed,
And at Fame's temple claim thy glorious meed;
Claim the best meed to real merit due,
And the great tale of Eugene'st acts pursue ;
The wondrous story weave in fancy's loom,
And let the wizard dyes eternal bloom;
Give to the hero all the hero asks,
And crown with lasting rapture all thy tasks;
So shall I once thy full-grown honours see,
Nor blush to boast that I have sung for thee.
+ Eugene, a poem, which reflects honour on Ireland, both as the production and the subject are of its growth.
WHAT dire misfortune hovers o'er my head?
Why hangs the salt dew on my aching eye?
Why doth my bosom pant, so sad, so sore,
That was full blithe before ? —
Bitter occasion prompts th' untimely sigh;
Why am I punish'd thus, ye angels! why?
A shepherd swain like me, of harmless guise,
Whose sole amusement was to feed his kine,
And tune his oaten pipe the livelong day,-
Could he in aught offend th' avenging skies,
Or wake the red-wing'd thunderbolt divine?
Ah! no: of simple structure was his lay;
Yet unprofan'd with trick of city art,
Pure from the head and glowing from the heart.-
Thou dear memorial of a brother's love,
Sweet flute, once warbled to the list'ning grove,
And master'd by his skilful hand,
How shall I now command
* In this Monody the author, a youth of ten years of age, bewails the death of his brother, who died of the small-pox, anno 1785, ætatis seven.
The hidden charms that lurk within thy frame,
Or tell his gentle fame?
Yet will I hail, unmeet, his star-crown'd shade;
And beck his rural friends, a tuneful throng,
To mend the uncouth lay, and join the rising song.
Ah! I remember well yon oaken arbour gay,
Where frequent at the purple dawn of morn,
Or 'neath the beetling brow of twilight grey,
We sate, like roses twain upon one thorn,
Telling romantic tales, of descant quaint,
Tinted in various hues with fancy's paint:
And I would hearken, greedy of his sound,
Lapt in the bosom of soft ecstacy,
Till, lifting mildly high
Her modest frontlet from the clouds around,
Silence beheld us bruise the closing flow'rs,
Meanwhile she shed her pure ambrosial show'rs.
O Shannon! thy embroider'd banks can tell
How oft we stray'd beside thy amber wave,
With ozier rods arching thy wizard stream,
Or weaving garlands for thy liquid brow.
Ah me! my dearest partner seeks the grave;
The ruthless grave, extinguisher of joy.
Fond Corydon, scarce ripen'd into boy,
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