I had seen references to poems about Bellevue and am delighted to have found these descriptive poems which illustrate the breath-taking beauty of Bellevue:

​

STREPHON

Hib. Mag. Oct. 1794.

 

To a Lady, on her desiring a Description ºf Bellevue Gardens. By the same.

(Hibernian-Magazine 1794 June pg 377-78)

- I.

TIS plain, dear girl, you do not know

The scene you wish my pen to shew,

But ah! how hard the task;

Yet the request was made by you,

And hard 'twou'd be to find out who

Refuses what you ask.

II

But ah! what language e'er can tell

The blooming charms that always dwell

On this enchanting spot:

When winter holds his icy reign,

And fills with snow each hill and plain,

His reign is here forgot.

Eternal spring blooms all the year,

Seasons may change—no change is here,

Continual bloom we find ;

Here fragrant groves, and rosy bowers,

Adorn'd with ever-blooming flowers,

Enchant both fight and mind.

IV.

Pomona does with Flora join,

To form a paradise divine,

In beauteous array;

But fruits and flowers together shew,

On Pennick both their skill bestow,

And both exert their sway.

V

"The melon, and the lusious pine,

The downy peach, the loaded vine,

Pomona's power declare;

Th" auricula, and blushing rose,

Jonquil, narcissus, all that blows,

Prove Flora's fav'rite care.

VI.

The painter here his skill might try,

The botanist, with curious eye,

A thousand subjećts find;

The lofty poet here might fing

The beauties of eternal spring,

In numbers’ unconfin'd.

- VII.

But ah! my muse is much too weak,

Of this enchanting place to speak,

And give the praises due;

Too great for my weak pen's the task,

To give the pleasure which you ask,

In colours just and true.

VIII.

Then come, my friend, no more delay,

But prove the truth of what I say,

And bless my longing sight;"

See flow'rs in bright succession rise,

Ting'd with a thousand various dies,

And breathing sweet delight.

IX.

. The glowing orange here you'll view,

! And find the paler lemon too,

. Th’ undying myrtle see :

In short, ten thousand charms you'll find,

For nature's beauty's here combin'd

In rich variety.

In walls of glass, 'midst sweetest flow'rs,

Here you may pass the peaceful hours,

Sooth'd by the softest strains ;

Sweet sounding from the plaintive flute,

Which, with thy melting voice, might suit

To lull the keenest pains.

XI.

Then come, sweet girl, no more delay,

Let me enjoy one happy day,

In this sweet spot with you.

And, if on earth there can be found

An Eden, or enchanted ground, -

You'll own it is BELLEVUE.

 

(Hibernian-Magazine June 1794 October pg 553-54)

​

Bellevue ; or the Poet's Dilemma.

(Hibernian Magazine - October 1794 pg 377-78)

 

HERE far adventuring and alone,

Unfriended, of the Muse unknown;

In luckless hour, and reason's spite

Condemn’d, it was my doom to write

In verse, nor guardian pow'r nor muse,

Who nought imparts, but cold excuse,

                                                           In pity of my fame’s undoing                                                         

Will check the chain, or set it going,

 

Abroad I stalk and look around,

If theme poetic can be found,

And roam for sentiment in vain,

O’er distant mountain, wood and plain.

Lo! to the south, where Wicklow head

Confines old Ocean to his bed!

A favouring bay his tail supplies,

And very like a whale he lies!

Shouting from forth his fretted fide,

                                 Large draughts he borrow'd of the tide,                               

Which foaming as its waves assail,

Froths like the head of Wicklow ale.

Sudden, with ardour past controuling,

And eyes in a fine frenzy rolling,

I wheel my view where Bray uplifts

                                             His chain of undulating clifts,                                          

At once the seaman's mark I dread,

Blue o'er the main he rears his head.

So Cyclop huge, in days of yore,

Sail'd from the steep Sicilian shore.

But! here no horrors scan the land,

At Bray's more hospitable hand;

While, by his side Killiney boats

in safety ride, as brouze her goats.

What mighty chief of mountain wights,

In scorn of sublunary heights,

Lifts his proud head o'er giant crouds,

And makes a night-cap of the clouds ;

Like " Sugar-loaf," (as so 'tis callid,

And sweetish similes forestallid.).

Darker than night there frowns hard by

What seems his grave when he shall die,

Tremendous Glinn, whose honour'd bound,

Impendant o'er the dark profound,

Smiles like day's lamp, in beams that glow

To cheer life's narrow path below.

Ah! Loaf of Sugar, but for you

Sweet Powerscourt wou'd be just in view;

Thine envious base does intervene

'Tween Bellevue and that fine demesne.

Thou ancient, noble, beauteous seat,

Awhile thy scenes let me repeat;

“ Tall shady groves, expanding fields,

Each bank celestial prospects yields;

Cascades from ev'ry valley teem,

Adds beauty to the noble scene.”

Now all ye fancies, fair and new,

Compare me, if you can, Bellevue.

Parnassus ? no-since uninspind

Bards on its summit long retir'd.

How be't so tuneful here decline

A friend and fav’rite of the nine ;

Invoking ev'ry muse in vain,

Finds none to animate his strain.

The blessings of thy honour'd couch,

Sublimer joys shall heaven ensure,

The common parent of the poor.

Deep furrow'd care, disease, and pain,

And want and sorrow's weeping train,

The tear that wastes the wretch's cheek,

And plaintive woe, and anguish meek,

The tyrant grief, and felt distress,

Sharp hunger, shiv’ring nakedness,

Have lineaments in which you trace,

By sympathy, a kindred race;

And give the stamp, whereby you claim

A mother's care in nature's name.

Lo! where the hapless orphan strays,

Her hopes are vanish'd, wild her ways !

Chance guides her ; nightly ills pursue ;

Chill rains her roof, and threshold too.

Here the low kinsman's succour flies,

And poverty her child denies !

Sure as the shaft of fate, the strain

Of misery (mites thy breast amain.

With providential voice divine,

And arm out-stretch'd, thou cry'ft “ 'Tis mine,'

(Wiping by stealth the drops that start

Of the best dew the skies impart,)

“ 'Tis mine," the heaven-rais's mother cries,

While high angelic sympathies

Catch the pure impulse, bred alone

Of bright perfection all their own.

Immortals claim the wish benign,

And highest heaven resounds 'Tis mine."

 

​