Thomas Moore
First Lines
A Spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh
All that's bright must fade, --
And whose immortal hand could shed
As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow,
As slow our ship her foamy track
As vanquished Erin wept beside
At night, when all is still around,
At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly
Avenging and bright fell the swift sword of Erin,
Away, away, you're all the same,
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms
By that Lake whose gloomy shore
By the hope within us springing,
Chloris, I swear, by all I ever swore,
Come, chase that starting tear away,
Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer,
Come, send round the wine, and leave points of belief
Come, tell me where the maid is found,
Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray
Dear Harp of my country, in darkness I found thee,
Down in the valley come meet me to-night,
Erin! the tear and the smile in thine eyes
Faintly as tolls the evening chime,
Farewell! but whenever you welcome the hour
Fill me, boy, as deep a draught
Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour
From dread Leucadia's frowning steep,
From this hour the pledge is given,
Go to your prisons -- though the air of spring
Go, then -- 'tis vain to hover
Golden hues of youth are fled;
Hark! the vesper bell is stealing
Has sorrow thy young days shaded
How dear to me the hour when daylight dies,
How oft a cloud, with envious veil,
How oft has the Banshee cried!
How sweet the answer Echo makes
I could resign that eye of blue,
I fear that love disturbs my rest,
I found her not -- the chamber seem'd
I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curl'd
I know thou lovest a brimming measure,
I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,
I saw thy form in youthful prime,
I wish I was by that dim lake,
I'd mourn the hopes that leave me,
I'll tell thee, as I trim thy fire,
I've a secret to tell thee, but hush! not here, --
If hoarded gold possess'd a power
If I speak to thee in friendship's name,
If I were yonder wave, my dear,
If thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air,
In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown,
It is not the tear at this moment shed,
Let Erin remember the days of old,
Let me resign a wretched breath,
Like the bright lamp that shone in Kildare's holy fane,
My heart is a sieve where some scatter'd affections
Nay, do not weep, my Fanny dear!
Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns
Ne'er ask the hour -- what is it to us
Night clos'd around the conqueror's way,
No, not more welcome the fairy numbers
O Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear,
Observe when mother earth is dry,
Oh! 'tis sweet to think, that, where'er we rove,
Oh! Arranmore, loved Arranmore,
Oh! banquet not in those shining bowers,
Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Oh! doubt me not -- the season
Oh! had we some bright little isle of our own,
Oh! no -- not e'en when first we loved,
Oh! the days are gone when Beauty bright
Oh, days of youth and joy, long clouded,
Oh, remember the time, in La Mancha's shades,
Oh, where's the slave, so lowly,
One bumper at parting -- though many
One day the Muses twined the hands
Peace be around thee, wherever thou rovest;
Quick! we have but a second,
Fill round the cup, while you may;
Remember the glories of Brien the Brave
Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn,
Row gently here, my gondolier; So softly wake the tide,
Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark --
See how, beneath the moonbeam's smile,
See you, beneath yon cloud so dark,
She has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool!
She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
She never look'd so kind before --
Silence is in our festal halls, --
Silent, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy water,
Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Strike the gay harp! see the moon is on high,
Sublime was the warning which Liberty spoke,
Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well,
Take back the sigh thy lips of art
The dream of those days when first I sung thee is o'er,
The harp that once through Tara's halls
The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
The young May moon is beaming, love,
Then, fare thee well! my own dear love,
There are sounds of mirth in the night-air ringing,
There comes a time, a dreary time,
There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
There's not a look, a word of thine
They came from a land beyond the sea,
They know not my heart, who believe there can be
They say that Love had once a book
This life is all chequer'd with pleasures and woes,
This world is all a fleeting show,
Thou art, O God, the life and light
Though 'tis all but a dream at the best,
Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see,
'Tis believ'd that this Harp, which I wake now for thee,
Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking,
'Tis said -- but whether true or not
'Tis true, my fading years decline,
To all that breathe the airs of heaven
'Twas a new feeling - something more
'Twas but for a moment - and yet in that time
'Twas in the fair Aspasia's bower
Weep on, weep on, your hour is past,
Well, peace to thy heart, though another's it be,
What life like that of the bard can be,
What the bee is to the floweret,
When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved,
When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow,
When first I met thee, warm and young,
When he who adores thee has left but the name
When I loved you, I can't but allow
When in death I shall calm recline,
When life looks lone and dreary,
When on the lip the sigh delays,
When thro' life unblest we rove,
Whene'er I see those smiling eyes,
Where shall we bury our shame?
While gazing on the moon's light,
While History's Muse the memorial was keeping
With all my soul, then, let us part,
Within this goblet rich and deep,
Yes -- loving is a painful thrill,
Yes, be the glorious revel mine,
You read it in my languid eyes,
You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride,
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