Twinkling their light heels to the lunar ray,
In antic morrice danc'd thy tiny band,

Each crown'd with garlands from the jasmine spray,
And each a wreath of vi'let in his hand,
Varying each feature; while the yellow sand,
With little footsteps etch'd, breath'd odours round,
And springing amaranths flung incense bland!
Delicious mysteries of faery ground,

Myst❜ries belov'd that erst my cradled visions crown'd!

O! there, methought, with Spenser I convers'd, Spenser who sung their rights with magic reed; And tender Otway, too untimely hers'd, Wont with fond pangs to bid my soft heart bleed. There Shakspeare, wond'rous seneschal decreed, Who read each potent meaning of each spell, In glory garb'd my willing foot would lead, And in low gales his solemn genius tell. Ah, dear delightful guests, ah, evermore farewel!

But now the busy village-hum is heard:
Shy Fancy frighted quits the noon-day crowd;
The chanting trav'ller scares the dappled herd,
And the shrill lark retires to verdant shroud.
This world, and all its creatures, are abroad:

Fancy's own fav'rite bird, the linnet, flies. Then cease to tune thy lay, O muse! aloud, Or spread thy tissued dreams to vulgar eyes; None but the minstrel shares the minstrel's ecstasies.

THE

SHRINE OF SYMPATHY.

MADAM,

TO THE HONOURABLE

LADY CHARLOTTE RAWDON.

To a heart so refined, and a sensibility so exquisite, as you possess, any thing that aims at the delineation of the mere 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.

I am, Madam,

Your Ladyship's humble and sincere servant,
THOMAS DERMODY.

Belmont, Feb. 11, 1790.

THE

SHRINE OF SYMPATHY.

Miserere matris, & preces, placidus, pias
Patiensque recipe, quoque ucelsum, altius
Superi levarunt, mitius lapsos preme.

SENECA IN TROAD.

CANTO I.

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, whale'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)