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OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD'.
Oh! blame not the bard if he fly to the bowers
Where Pleasure lies carelessly smiling at Fame; He was born for much more, and, in happier hours,
His soul might have burn'd with a holier fame. The string that now languishes loose o'er the lyre, Might have bent a proud bow' to the warrior's
We may suppose this apology to have been uttered by one of those wandering bards, whom Spenser so severely, and perhaps truly, describes in his State of Ireland, and whose poems, he tells us, “ were sprinkled with some pretty flowers of their natural device, which gave good grace and comeliness unto them, the which it is great pity to see abused to the gracing of wickedness and vice, which, with good usage, would serve to adorn and beautify virtue.”
2 It is conjectured by Wormius that the name of Ireland, is derived from Yr, the Runic for a bow, in the use of which
And the lip, which now breathes but the song of
desire, Might have pour’d the full tide of the patriot's
But, alas! for his country! her pride is gone by, And that spirit is broken which never would
bend: O’er the ruin her children in secret must sigh, For 'tis treason to love her, and death to de
fend! Unprized are her sons, till they've learn'd to be
tray; Undistinguish'd they live, if they shame not
their sires: And the torch that would light them through dig
nity's way, Must be caught from the pile where their coun
weapon, the Irish were once very expert. This derivation is certainly more creditable to us than the following : So that Ireland, called the land of Ire, (for the constant broils therein for 400 years) was now become the land of Concord.”—Lloyd's State Worthies, Art. The Lord Grandison.
Then blame not the bard, if in Pleasure's soft
dream, He should try to forget what he never can
heal: Oh! give but a hope—let a vista but gleam Through the gloom of his country, and mark
how he'll feel! That instant his heart at her shrine would lie
down Ev'ry passion it nursed, ev'ry bliss it adored; While the myrtle, now idly entwined with his
crown, Like the wreath of Harmodius should cover
But, though glory be gone, and though hope fade
away, Thy name, loved Erin! shall live in his
songs; Not ev'n in the hour when his heart is most gay Will he lose the remembrance of thee and thy
3 See the hymn, attributed to Alcæus, Ey Muptou xnado to Espos popnoe.--I will carry my sword, hidden in myrtles, like Harmodius and Aristogiton,” &c.
The stranger shall hear thy lament on his plains;
The sigh of thy harp shall be sent o'er the deep, Till thy masters, themselves, as they rivet thy
chains, Shall pause at the song of their captive and
WHILE GAZING ON THE MOON'S LIGHT.
While gazing on the Moon's light,
A moment from her smile, I turn'd,
But too far
Each proud star
Much more dear
That mild sphere,
I « Of such celestial bodies as are visible, the sun excepted, the single moon, as despicable as it is in comparison to most of the others, is much more beneficial than they all put together.”—Whiston's Theory, &c.
In the Entretiens d'Ariste, among other ingenious emblems, we find a starry sky without a moon, with the words Non mille quod absens.