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Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife !
To all the sensual world proclaim,
Old Mortality. Vol. i. Chapter xxi.
The Monastery. Vol. i. Chapter xii.
THOMAS MOORE. 1780-1852.
'HIS narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, The past, the future, two eternities !
The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan. There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream.
Like the stained web that whitens in the sun,
One morn a Peri at the gate
Paradise and the Peri.
But the trail of the serpent is over them all.
O, ever thus, from childhood's hour,
I've seen my fondest hopes decay ;
The Fire-Worshippers. I never nursed a dear gazelle,
To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well,
And love me, it was sure to die.
Beholding heaven and feeling hell.
The sunshine, broken in the rill,
Farewell, farewell to thee Araby's daughter. Ibid.
Alas ! how light a cause may move
The Light of the Harain. Love on through all ills, and love on till they die.
Ibid. And, oh ! if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this.
Ibid. IRISH MELODIES.
The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,
The Harp that Once.
Fly not yet, 't is just the hour
When pleasure like the midnight flower, That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
Begins to bloom for sons of night, And maids who love the moon.
Fly not Yet.
Go where glory waits thee.
Go where Glory.
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, Is always the first to be touched by the thorns.
O think not my Spirits.
No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us,
Come o'er the Sea
Rich and rare were the gems she wore.
Rich and Rare.
There's not in the wide world a valley so sweet,
The Meeting of the Waters. Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree?
Come send round the Wine.
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
Believe me, if all those endearing.
The moon looks
On many brooks,
While gazing on the Moon's Light.
There's nothing half so sweet in life
Love's Young Dream.
To live with them is far less sweet
I saw thy Form.
'T is the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone. Last Rose of Summier.
When true hearts lie withered
And fond ones are flown,
This bleak world alone ?
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if
Farewell ! But whenever you welcome the Hour,
* This image was suggested by the following thought, which occurs somewhere in Sir William Jones's Works :-'The moon looks upon many night-flowers, the night-flower sees but one moon.'
In imitation of Shenstone, ‘Heu ! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse.'
Thus, when the lamp that lighted
The traveller at first goes out,
And looks around in fear and doubt.
By cloudless starlight on he treads,
I'd Mourn the Hopes.
And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, The maiden herself will steal after it soon.
The light that lies
The Time I'rie Lost, &C.
My only books
Were woman's looks,
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,
Come, rest in this Bosom. Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and free, First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea.
Those evening bells ! those evening bells !
Those Evening Bells