Thomas Moore

“ O'er scenes of joy that I but leave,
As the bird quits awhile its nest
To come again with livelier zest.
And now to tell thee—what I fear
Thou'lt gravely smile at—why I'm here
Tho' thro' my life's short, sunny dream,
I've floated without pain or care
Like a light leaf down pleasure's stream,
Caught in each sparkling eddy there;
Tho' never Mirth awaked a strain
That my heart echoed not again;
Yet have I felt, when even most gay,
Sad thoughts—I knew not whence or why—
Suddenly o'er my spirit fly,
Like clouds that ere we've time to say
"How bright the sky is!" shade the sky. ”

“ Illume its spray, like the fleeting smile
That shines o'er sorrow's tear.
Nothing is lost on him who sees
With an eye that feeling gave;—
For him there's a story in every breeze,
And a picture in every wave.
Then sing to lighten the languid way;
When brows are glowing,
And faint with rowing,
'Tis like the spell of Hope's airy lay,
To whose sound thro' life we stray.
* * * * *
'Tis sweet to behold when the billows are sleeping,
Some gay-colored bark moving gracefully by;
No damp on her deck but the eventide's weeping,
No breath in her sails but the summer wind's sigh. ”

“ Than e'er beneath the moonlight star,
Of horn or lute, or soft guitar,
The songs repeat.
'Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere,
And only then,—
The sigh that's breath'd for one to hear,
Is by that one, that only dear,
Breathed back again!
OH BANQUET NOT. Oh banquet not in those shining bowers,
Where Youth resorts, but come to me:
For mine's a garden of faded flowers,
More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee.
And there we shall have our feast of tears,
And many a cup in silence pour;
Our guests, the shades of former years,
Our toasts to lips that bloom no more. ”

“ No clouds can linger o'er me,
That smile turns them all to light.
'Tis not in fate to harm me,
While fate leaves thy love to me;
'Tis not in joy to charm me,
Unless joy be shared with thee.
One minute's dream about thee
Were worth a long, an endless year
Of waking bliss without thee,
My own love, my only dear!
And tho' the hope be gone, love,
That long sparkled o'er our way,
Oh! we shall journey on, love,
More safely, without its ray.
Far better lights shall win me
Along the path I've yet to roam:—
The mind that burns within me,
And pure smiles from thee at home. ”

“ Like those gay flies that wing thro' air,
And in themselves a lustre bear,
A stock of light, still ready there,
Whenever they wish to use it;
So, in this world I'd make for thee,
Our hearts should all like fire-flies be,
And the flash of wit or poesy
Break forth whenever we choose it.
While every joy that glads our sphere
Hath still some shadow hovering near,
In this new world of ours, my dear,
Such shadows will all be omitted:—
Unless they're like that graceful one,
Which, when thou'rt dancing in the sun.
Still near thee, leaves a charm upon
Each spot where it hath flitted. ”

“ Deep treasured thro' life, in my heart they shall stay;
Like music, whose charm in the soul lingers yet,
When its sounds from the ear have long melted away.
Let Fortune assail me, her threatenings are vain;
Those still-breathing words shall my talisman be,—
"Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain,
"There's one heart, unchanging, that beats but for thee."
From the desert's sweet well tho' the pilgrim must hie,
Never more of that fresh-springing fountain to taste,
He hath still of its bright drops a treasured supply,
Whose sweetness lends life to his lips thro' the waste. ”

“ I find the doctors and the sages
Have differed in all climes and ages,
And two in fifty scarce agree
On what is pure morality.
'Tis like the rainbow's shifting zone,
And every vision makes its own.
The doctors of the Porch advise,
As modes of being great and wise,
That we should cease to own or know
The luxuries that from feeling flow;
"Reason alone must claim direction,
"And Apathy's the soul's perfection.
"Like a dull lake the heart must lie;
"Nor passion's gale nor pleasure's sigh,
"Though Heaven the breeze, the breath, supplied,
"Must curl the wave or swell the tide!" ”

“ As tho' the distance and that heavenly ray
Thro' which the sounds came floating took away
All that had been too earthly in the lay.
Oh! could he listen to such sounds unmoved,
And by that light—nor dream of her he loved?
Dream on, unconscious boy! while yet thou may'st;
'Tis the last bliss thy soul shall ever taste.
Clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart,
Ere all the light that made it dear depart.
Think of her smiles as when thou saw'st them last,
Clear, beautiful, by naught of earth o'ercast;
Recall her tears to thee at parting given,
Pure as they weep, if angels weep in Heaven. ”

“ Like stars thro' heaven's sea
Floating in harmony
Beauty should glide along
Circled by Song.
WHEN THOU ART NIGH. When thou art nigh, it seems
A new creation round;
The sun hath fairer beams,
The lute a softer sound.
Tho' thee alone I see,
And hear alone thy sigh,
'Tis light, 'tis song to me,
Tis all—when thou art nigh.
When thou art nigh, no thought
Of grief comes o'er my heart;
I only think—could aught
But joy be where thou art?
Life seems a waste of breath,
When far from thee I sigh;
And death—ay, even death
Were sweet, if thou wert nigh. ”

“ When the beautiful hue
Of thy cheek thro' the dew
Of morning is bashfully peeping,
"Sweet tears," I shall say
(As I brush them away) ,
"At least there's no art in this weeping"
Altho thou shouldst die to-morrow;
'Twill not be from pain or sorrow;
And the thorns of thy stem
Are not like them
With which men wound each other;
So, my pretty Rose-tree,
Thou my mistress shalt be
And I'll never again sigh to another.
SHINE OUT, STARS! Shine out, Stars! let Heaven assemble
Round us every festal ray,
Lights that move not, lights that tremble,
All to grace this Eve of May. ”

“ Tho' like a star it dwells o'er head
Still lights this world below.
Thou art not dead—thou art not dead!
No, dearest Harmodius, no.
Thro' isles of light where heroes tread
And flowers ethereal blow,
Thy god-like Spirit now is led,
Thy lip with life ambrosial fed
Forgets all taste of woe.
Thou art not dead—thou art not dead!
No, dearest Harmodius, no.
The myrtle round that falchion spread
Which struck the immortal blow,
Throughout all time with leaves unshed—
The patriot's hope, the tyrant's dread—
Round Freedom's shrine shall grow.
Thou art not dead—thou art not dead! ”

“ Things lost in this dark world are found;
So charms, on earth long past and gone,
In the poet's lay live on.—
Would ye have smiles that ne'er grow dim?
You've only to give them all to him.
Who, with but a touch of Fancy's wand,
Can lend them life, this life beyond,
And fix them high, in Poesy's sky,—
Young stars that never die!
Then, welcome the bard where'er he comes,—
For, tho' he hath countless airy homes,
To which his wing excursive roves,
Yet still, from time to time, he loves
To light upon earth and find such cheer
As brightens our banquet here. ”

“ I had seen purest angels lean
In worship o'er her from above;
And man—oh yes, had envying seen
Proud man possest of all her love.
I saw their happiness, so brief,
So exquisite,—her error, too,
That easy trust, that prompt belief
In what the warm heart wishes true;
That faith in words, when kindly said.
By which the whole fond sex is led
Mingled with—what I durst not blame,
For 'tis my own—that zeal to know,
Sad, fatal zeal, so sure of woe;
Which, tho' from heaven all pure it came,
Yet stained, misused, brought sin and shame
On her, on me, on all below! ”

“ With Faith, the same thro' bliss and woe—
Faith that were even its light removed,
Could like the dial fixt remain
And wait till it shone out again;—
With Patience that tho' often bowed
By the rude storm can rise anew;
And Hope that even from Evil's cloud
See sunny Good half breaking thro'!
This deep, relying Love, worth more
In heaven than all a Cherub's lore—
This Faith more sure than aught beside
Was the sole joy, ambition, pride
Of her fond heart—the unreasoning scope
Of all its views, above, below—
So true she felt it that to hope,
To trust, is happier than to know. ”

“ While such a moon is beaming,
'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.
If e'er the fates should sever
My life and hopes from thee, love,
The sleep that lasts for ever
Would then be sweet to me, love;
But now,—away with dreaming!
Till darker hours 'twill keep;
While such a moon is beaming,
'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.
THE BOY OF THE ALPS. Lightly, Alpine rover,
Tread the mountains over;
Rude is the path thou'st yet to go;
Snow cliffs hanging o'er thee,
Fields of ice before thee,
While the hid torrent moans below.
Hark, the deep thunder,
Thro' the vales yonder! ”

“ Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er the brow,
Let Love light it up with his smile!
LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE THEE? Love thee, dearest? love thee?
Yes, by yonder star I swear,
Which thro' tears above thee
Shines so sadly fair;
Tho' often dim,
With tears, like him,
Like him my truth will shine,
And—love thee, dearest? love thee?
Yes, till death I'm thine.
Leave thee, dearest? leave thee?
No, that star is not more true;
When my vows deceive thee,
He will wander too.
A cloud of night
May veil his light,
And death shall darken mine—
But—leave thee, dearest? leave thee? ”

“ Whose Papists (full as given to rogue,
And only Sunnites with a brogue)
Fare just as well, with all their fuss,
As rascal Sunnites do with us.
The tender Gazel I enclose
Is for my love, my Syrian Rose—
Take it when night begins to fall,
And throw it o'er her mother's wall.
GAZEL. Rememberest thou the hour we past,—
That hour the happiest and the last?
Oh! not so sweet the Siha thorn
To summer bees at break of morn,
Not half so sweet, thro' dale and dell,
To Camels' ears the tinkling bell,
As is the soothing memory
Of that one precious hour to me.
How can we live, so far apart? ”

“ Weep while they rise.
Erin, thy silent tear never shall cease,
Erin, thy languid smile ne'er shall increase,
Till, like the rainbow's light,
Thy various tints unite,
And form in heaven's sight
One arch of peace!
OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid:
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.
But the night-dew that falls, tho' in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps ”

“ New sunshine and wit from the fountain on high,
Tho' the nymphs may have livelier poets to sing them,
They've none, even there, more enamored than I.
And as long as this harp can be wakened to love,
And that eye its divine inspiration shall be,
They may talk as they will of their Edens above,
But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.
In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendor,
At twilight so often we've roamed thro' the dew,
There are maidens, perhaps, who have bosoms as tender,
And look, in their twilights, as lovely as you. ”

“ The best thing a man can do,
Is to make it, at least, a merry-go-round,
By—sending the wine round too.
Our first gay stage of life is when
Youth in its dawn salutes the eye—
Season of bliss! Oh, who wouldn't then
Wish to cry, "Stop!" to earth and sky?
But, round, round, both boy and girl
Are whisked thro' that sky of blue;
And much would their hearts enjoy the whirl,
If—their heads didn't whirl round too.
Next, we enjoy our glorious noon,
Thinking all life a life of light;
But shadows come on, 'tis evening soon,
And ere we can say, "How short!"—'tis night. ”

“ If more thou seek'st, a lover.
Which shall it be? How shall I woo?
Fair one, choose between the two.
Tho' the wings of Love will brightly play,
When first he comes to woo thee,
There's a chance that he may fly away,
As fast as he flies to thee.
While Friendship, tho' on foot she come,
No flights of fancy trying,
Will, therefore, oft be found at home,
When Love abroad is flying.
Which shall it be? How shall I woo?
Dear one, choose between the two.
If neither feeling suits thy heart
Let's see, to please thee, whether
We may not learn some precious art
To mix their charms together ”