Thomas Moore

May 28, 1780 - Feb 26, 1852


Fairest! Put On Awhile

by Thomas Moore

Fairest! put on awhile
These pinions of light I bring thee,
And o'er thy own green isle
In fancy let me wing thee.
Never did Ariel's plume,
At golden sunset hover
O'er such scenes of bloom
As I shall waft thee over.

Fields, where the Spring delays,
And fearlessly meets the ardour
Of the warm Summer's gaze,
With but her tears to guard her.
Rocks, through myrtle boughs,
In grace majestic frowning --
Like some warrior's brows
That Love hath just been crowning.

Islets so freshly fair
That never hath bird come nigh them,
But, from his course through air,
Hath been won downward by them --
Types, sweet maid, of thee,
Whose look, whose blush inviting,
Never did Love yet see
From heaven, without alighting.

Lakes where the pearl lies hid,
And caves where the diamond's sleeping,
Bright as the gems that lid
Of thine lets fall in weeping.
Glens, where Ocean comes,
To 'scape the wild wind's rancour,
And harbours, worthiest homes
Where Freedom's sails could anchor.

Then if, while scenes so grand,
So beautiful, shine before thee,
Pride for thine own dear land
Should haply be stealing o'er thee,
Oh, let grief come first,
O'er pride itself victorious --
To think how man hath curst
What Heaven had made so glorious!


The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore.
Copyright undated, very old
The Walter Scott Publishing Co. Ltd.
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