-
James Delacourt (1709–1734–1781)
- Cork University Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
183 JAMES DELACOURT OR DE-LA-COUR (1709–1734–1781) The Rev. James Delacourt (the name is spelt in several different ways) was born in Cork. He was educated at Trinity College, Dublin where he became embroiled in a battle of wits that involved Charles Carthy and William Dunkin, among others. Delacourt was ordained into the Church of Ireland and returned to Cork where his contemporaries considered him quite mad. He had written poetry from his student days and was a great admirer of the English poet James Thomson (1700–48) author of The Seasons (1728–30) to whom he addressed the following poem. Soon after its appearance, the poem was mercilessly parodied in The London Magazine in verses beginning: ‘Hail gently-warbling Delacourt.’ Only extracts from this rambling and eccentric poem are printed here. from: To Mr Thomson, on his Seasons FROM sunless worlds, where Phoebus seldom smiles, But with his ev’ning wheels hangs o’er our isles; A western muse to worth this tribute pays, From regions bord’ring on the Hebrides:1 For thee the Irish harp new-strung once more, Greens our rough rocks, and bleak Hibernian shore: Thou Thomson, bid my fingers wake the strings, And with thy praise the wild wood hollow rings; The shades of rev’rend Druids hover round, And bend transported o’er the brazen sound. … 10 BLEST bard! with what new lustre dost thou rise, Soft as the season o’er the summer skies; Thy works a little world new found appear, And thou the Phoebus of a heav’n so fair; Thee their bright sov’reign all the signs2 allow, And Thomson is another name for nature now; ... BENEATH thy touch DESCRIPTION paints anew, And the skies brighten to a purer blue; Spring owes thy pencil her peculiar green, And drown’d in redder roses summer’s seen; 20 Delacourt means ‘Ireland’ – even if his geography is somewhat eccentric. 1 of the Zodiac. 2 184 While hoary winter whitens into cold, And autumn bends beneath her bearded gold. IN various drap’ry see the rowling year, And the wild waste in sable spots appear; O’er the black bog the bittern stalks alone, And to the naked marshes makes his moan; ... A sudden flash of lightning turns my eye, To thunder rumbling in the summer sky! Beneath thy hand the flaming sheet is spread, O’er heav’ns wide face, and wraps it round with red; 30 With the broad blaze the kindling lines grow bright, And all the glowing page is filled with light; Thro’ the rough verse the thunder hoarsely roars, And on red wings the nimble light’ning soars:3 Here thy Amelia4 starts, and chill’d with fears, At ev’ry flash her eye-lid swims in tears; What heart but beats for so divine a form, Pale as a lilly sinking in a storm? What maid so cold to take a lover’s part, But pities Celadon with all her heart. 40 How precious gems enrich each sparkling line, Add sun to sun, and from thy fancy shine! Here rocks of diamonds blaze in broken ray, And sanguine rubies shed a blushing day; Blue mining Saphyrs a gay heav’n unfold, And Topaz lightens like transparent gold; Of ev’ning tinct pale Amethysts are seen, And Em’ralds paint their languid beams with green; While the clear Opal courts the reader’s sight, And rains a show’r of many colour’d light: 50 cf. Alexander Pope’s parody of bad verse in ‘An Essay on Criticism’, II, 365–70. 3 Amelia and Celadon (l.40) are the protagonists in an episode in Thomson’s ‘Summer’: 4 Amelia is struck dead by a bolt of lightning. [35.175.212.5] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 00:14 GMT) 185 James Delacourt or De-La-Cour Your sky-dipt pencil adds the proper glow, Stains each bright stone, and lets their lustre flow, Tempers the colours shifting from each beam, And bids them flash in one continued stream. So have I seen the florid rain-bow rise, In breded5 colours o’er the wat’ry skies, Where drops of light alternate fall away, And fainting gleams in gradual dyes decay; But thrown together the broad arch displays, One tide of glory, one collected blaze!... 60 O! thou that only in this garb could please, And bring me over to commend thy lays; Where rhyme is wanting,6 but where fancy shines And bursts like...