To all that breathe the airs of heaven...

By Thomas Moore

To all that breathe the airs of heaven
Some boon of strength has nature given.
When the majestic bull was born,
She fenced his brow with wreathed horn;
She arm'd the courser's foot of air,
And winged with speed the panting hare.
She gave the lion fangs of terror,
And, on the ocean's crystal mirror,
Taught the unnumbered scaly throng
To trace their liquid path along;
While for the umbrage of the grove,
She plumed the warbling world of love.
To man she gave the flame refined,
The spark of heaven - a thinking mind!
And had she no surpassing treasure
For thee, O waman! child of pleasure?
She gave thee beauty -- shaft of eyes,
That every shaft of war outflies!
She gave thee beauty -- blush of fire,
That bids the flames of war retire!
Woman! be fair, we must adore thee!
Smile, and a world is weak before thee!