Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! Old Mortality. Vol. ii. Chapter xxi. Within that awful volume lies The Monastery. Vol. i. Chapter xii. Ibid. THOMAS MOORE. 1780-1852. LALLA ROOKH. HIS narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, THIS 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, Ibid. Ibid. One morn a Peri at the gate Of Eden stood disconsolate. Paradise and the Peri. But the trail of the serpent is over them all. Ibid. O, ever thus, from childhood's hour, But 't was the first to fade away. I never nursed a dear gazelle, The Fire-Worshippers. 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. Ibid. Ibid. The sunshine, broken in the rill, Though turned astray, is sunshine still. Ibid. Farewell, farewell to thee Araby's daughter. Ibid. Alas! how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied, That stood the storm, when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea, When heaven was all tranquillity. The Light of the Haram. Love on through all ills, and love on till they die. And, oh! if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this. Ibid. Ibid. IRISH MELODIES. The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, As if that soul were fled. Fly not yet, 't is just the hour The Harp that Once. 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, Rich and rare were the gems she wore. Come d'er the Sea Rich and Rare. There's not in the wide world a valley so sweet, Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side Come send round the Wine. No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, Believe me, if all those endearing. The moon looks On many brooks, The brook can see no moon but this.* While gazing on the Moon's Light. There's nothing half so sweet in life You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. 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 And looks around in fear and doubt. But soon, the prospect clearing, By cloudless starlight on he treads, As that light which Heaven sheds. I'd Mourn the Hopes. And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, The maiden herself will steal after it soon. Ill Omens. The light that lies In woman's eyes. The Time I've Lost, &c. My only books Were woman's looks, And folly's all they've taught me. I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. Ibid. 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. NATIONAL AIRS. Remember Thee. Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells. Those Evening Bells |