Thomas Moore

May 28, 1780 - Feb 26, 1852


Farewell! But Whenever You Welcome The Hour

by Thomas Moore

Farewell! but whenever you welcome the hour
Which awakens the night-song of mirth in your bow'r,
Then think of the friend who once welcom'd it too,
And forgot his own grief to be happy with you.
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain,
Of the few that have brighten'd his pathway of pain,
But he ne'er will forget his short vision that threw
Its enchantment around him, while ling'ring with you.

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends! shall be with you that night;
Shall join in your revels, your sports and your wiles,
And return to me, beaming all o'er with your smiles! --
Too blest, if it tells me, that, 'mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice had murmur'd, I wish he were here!

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy;
Which come, in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy us'd to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd!
Like the vase in which roses have once been distill'd --
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.


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