by Thomas Moore
Love thee? — so well, so tenderly
Thou’rt loved, adored by me,
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty,
Were worthless without thee.
Tho’ brimmed with blessings, pure and rare,
Life’s cup before me lay,
Unless thy love were mingled there,
I’d spurn the draft away.
Love thee? — so well, so tenderly,
Thou’rt loved, adored by me,
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty,
Are worthless without thee.
Without thy smile, the monarch’s lot
To me were dark and lone,
While, with it, even the humblest cot
Were brighter than his throne.
Those worlds for which the conqueror sighs
For me would have no charms;
My only world thy gentle eyes —
My throne thy circling arms!
Oh, yes, so well, so tenderly
Thou’rt loved, adored by me,
Whole realms of light and liberty
Were worthless without thee.
ONE DEAR SMILE.
Couldst thou look as dear as when
First I sighed for thee;
Couldst thou make me feel again
Every wish I breathed thee then,
Oh, how blissful life would be!
Hopes that now beguiling leave me,
Joys that lie in slumber cold —
All would wake, couldst thou but give me
One dear smile like those of old.
No — there’s nothing left us now,
But to mourn the past;
Vain was every ardent vow —
Never yet did Heaven allow
Love so warm, so wild, to last.
Not even hope could now deceive me —
Life itself looks dark and cold;
Oh, thou never more canst give me
One dear smile like those of old
YES, YES, WHEN THE BLOOM.
Yes, yes, when, the bloom of Love’s boyhood is o’er,
He’ll turn into friendship that feels no decay;
And, tho’ Time may take from him the wings he once wore,
The charms that remain will be bright as before,
And he’ll lose but his young trick of flying away.
Then let it console thee, if Love should not stay,
That Friendship our last happy moments will crown:
Like the shadows of morning, Love lessens away,
While Friendship, like those at the closing of day,
Will linger and lengthen as life’s sun goes down.
THE DAY OF LOVE.
The beam of morning trembling
Stole o’er the mountain brook,
With timid ray resembling
Affection’s early look.
Thus love begins — sweet morn of love!
The noon-tide ray ascended,
And o’er the valley’s stream
Diffused a glow as splendid
As passion’s riper dream.
Thus love expands — warm noon of love!
But evening came, o’ershading
The glories of the sky,
Like faith and fondness fading
From passion’s altered eye.
Thus love declines — cold eve of love!
LUSITANIAN WAR-SONG.
The song of war shall echo thro’ our mountains,
Till not one hateful link remains
Of slavery’s lingering chains;
Till not one tyrant tread our plains,
Nor traitor lip pollute our fountains.
No! never till that glorious day
Shall Lusitania’s sons be gay,
Or hear, oh Peace, thy welcome lay
Resounding thro’ her sunny mountains.
The song of war shall echo thro’ our mountains,
Till Victory’s self shall, smiling, say,
“Your cloud of foes hath past away,
“And Freedom comes with new-born ray
“To gild your vines and light your fountains.”
Oh, never till that glorious day
Shall Lusitania’s sons be gay,
Or hear, sweet Peace, thy welcome lay
Resounding thro’ her sunny mountains.
THE YOUNG ROSE.
The young rose I give thee, so dewy and bright,
Was the floweret most dear to the sweet bird of night,
Who oft, by the moon, o’er her blushes hath hung,
And thrilled every leaf with the wild lay he sung.
Oh, take thou this young rose, and let her life be
Prolonged by the breath she will borrow from thee;
For, while o’er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill,
She’ll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still.
WHEN MIDST THE GAY I MEET.
When midst the gay I meet
That gentle smile of thine,
Tho’ still on me it turns most sweet,
I scarce can call it mine:
But when to me alone
Your secret tears you show,
Oh, then I feel those tears my own,
And claim them while they flow.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.
The snow on Jura’s steep
Can smile in many a beam,
Yet still in chains of coldness sleep.
How bright soe’er it seem.
But, when some deep-felt ray
Whose touch is fire appears,
Oh, then the smile is warmed away,
And, melting, turns to tears.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.
WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS.
When twilight dews are falling soft
Upon the rosy sea, love,
I watch the star, whose beam so oft
Has lighted me to thee, love.
And thou too, on that orb so dear,
Dost often gaze at even,
And think, tho’ lost for ever here,
Thou’lt yet be mine in heaven.
There’s not a garden walk I tread,
There’s not a flower I see, love,
But brings to mind some hope that’s fled,
Some joy that’s gone with thee, Love.
And still I wish that hour was near,
When, friends and foes forgiven,
The pains, the ills we’ve wept thro’ here
May turn to smiles in heaven.
YOUNG JESSICA.
Young Jessica sat all the day,
With heart o’er idle love-thoughts pining;
Her needle bright beside her lay,
So active once! — now idly shining.
Ah, Jessy, ’tis in idle hearts
That love and mischief are most nimble;
The safest shield against the darts
Of Cupid is Minerva’s thimble.
The child who with a magnet plays
Well knowing all its arts, so wily,
The tempter near a needle lays.
And laughing says, “We’ll steal it slily.”
The needle, having naught to do,
Is pleased to let the magnet wheedle;
Till closer, closer come the two,
And — off, at length, elopes the needle.
Now, had this needle turned its eye
To some gay reticule’s construction,
It ne’er had strayed from duty’s tie,
Nor felt the magnet’s sly seduction.
Thus, girls, would you keep quiet hearts,
Your snowy fingers must be nimble;
The safest shield against the darts
Of Cupid is Minerva’s thimble.
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br /> HOW HAPPY, ONCE.
How happy, once, tho’ winged with sighs,
My moments flew along,
While looking on those smiling eyes,
And listening to thy magic song!
But vanished now, like summer dreams,
Those moments smile no more;
For me that eye no longer beams,
That song for me is o’er.
Mine the cold brow,
That speaks thy altered vow,
While others feel thy sunshine now.
Oh, could I change my love like thee,
One hope might yet be mine —
Some other eyes as bright to see,
And hear a voice as sweet as thine:
But never, never can this heart
Be waked to life again;
With thee it lost its vital part,
And withered then!
Cold its pulse lies,
And mute are even its sighs,
All other grief it now defies.
I LOVE BUT THEE.
If, after all, you still will doubt and fear me,
And think this heart to other loves will stray,
If I must swear, then, lovely doubter, hear me;
By every dream I have when thou’rt away,
By every throb I feel when thou art near me,
I love but thee — I love but thee!
By those dark eyes, where light is ever playing,
Where Love in depth of shadow holds his throne,
And by those lips, which give whate’er thou’rt saying,
Or grave or gay, a music of its own,
A music far beyond all minstrel’s playing,
I love but thee — I love but thee!
By that fair brow, where Innocence reposes,
As pure as moonlight sleeping upon snow,
And by that cheek, whose fleeting blush discloses
A hue too bright to bless this world below,
And only fit to dwell on Eden’s roses,
I love but thee — I love but thee!
LET JOY ALONE BE REMEMBERED NOW.
Let thy joys alone be remembered now,
Let thy sorrows go sleep awhile;
Or if thought’s dark cloud come o’er thy brow,
Let Love light it up with his smile,
For thus to meet, and thus to find,
That Time, whose touch can chill
Each flower of form, each grace of mind,
Hath left thee blooming still,
Oh, joy alone should be thought of now,
Let our sorrows go sleep awhile;
Or, should thought’s dark cloud come o’er thy brow,
Let Love light it up with his smile.
When the flowers of life’s sweet garden fade,
If but one bright leaf remain,
Of the many that once its glory made,
It is not for us to complain.
But thus to meet and thus to wake
In all Love’s early bliss;
Oh, Time all other gifts may take,
So he but leaves us this!
Then let joy alone be remembered now,
Let our sorrows go sleep awhile;
Or if thought’s dark cloud come o’er the brow,
Let Love light it up with his smile!
LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE THEE?
Love thee, dearest? love thee?
Yes, by yonder star I swear,
Which thro’ tears above thee
Shines so sadly fair;
Tho’ often dim,
With tears, like him,
Like him my truth will shine,
And — love thee, dearest? love thee?
Yes, till death I’m thine.
Leave thee, dearest? leave thee?
No, that star is not more true;
When my vows deceive thee,
He will wander too.
A cloud of night
May veil his light,
And death shall darken mine —
But — leave thee, dearest? leave thee?
No, till death I’m thine.
MY HEART AND LUTE.
I give thee all — I can no more —
Tho’ poor the offering be;
My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.
A lute whose gentle song reveals
The soul of love full well;
And, better far, a heart that feels
Much more than lute could tell.
Tho’ love and song may fail, alas!
To keep life’s clouds away,
At least ‘twill make them lighter pass,
Or gild them if they stay.
And even if Care at moments flings
A discord o’er life’s happy strain,
Let Love but gently touch the strings,
‘Twill all be sweet again!
PEACE, PEACE TO HIM THAT’S GONE!
When I am dead.
Then lay my head
In some lone, distant dell,
Where voices ne’er
Shall stir the air,
Or break its silent spell.
If any sound
Be heard around,
Let the sweet bird alone,
That weeps in song,
Sing all night long,
“Peace, peace, to him that’s gone!”
Yet, oh, were mine
One sigh of thine,
One pitying word from thee,
Like gleams of heaven,
To sinners given,
Would be that word to me.
Howe’er unblest,
My shade would rest
While listening to that tone; —
Enough ’twould be
To hear from thee,
“Peace, peace, to him that gone.”
ROSE OF THE DESERT
Rose of the Desert! thou, whose blushing ray,
Lonely and lovely, fleets unseen away;
No hand to cull thee, none to woo thy sigh, —
In vestal silence left to live and die. —
Rose of the Desert! thus should woman be,
Shining uncourted, lone and safe, like thee.
Rose of the Garden, how, unlike thy doom!
Destined for others, not thyself, to bloom;
Culled ere thy beauty lives thro’ half its day;
A moment cherished, and then cast away;
Rose of the Garden! such is woman’s lot, —
Worshipt while blooming — when she fades, forgot.
‘TIS ALL FOR THEE.
If life for me hath joy or light,
’Tis all from thee,
My thoughts by day, my dreams by night,
Are but of thee, of only thee.
Whate’er of hope or peace I know,
My zest in joy, my balm in woe,
To those dear eyes of thine I owe,
’Tis all from thee.
My heart, even ere I saw those eyes,
Seemed doomed to thee;
Kept pure till then from other ties,
’Twas all for thee, for only thee.
Like plants that sleep till sunny May
Calls forth their life my spirit lay,
Till, touched by Love’s awakening ray,
It lived for thee, it lived for thee.
When Fame would call me to her heights,
She speaks by thee;
And dim would shine her proudest lights,
Unshared by thee, unshared by thee.
Whene’er I seek the Muse’s shrine,
Where Bards have hung their wreaths divine,
And wish those wreaths of glory mine,
’Tis all for thee, for only thee.
THE SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME.
There’s a song of the olden time,
Falling sad o’er the ear,
Like the dream of some village chime,
Which in youth we loved to hear.
And even amidst the grand and gay,
/> When Music tries her gentlest art
I never hear so sweet a lay,
Or one that hangs so round my heart,
As that song of the olden time,
Falling sad o’er the ear,
Like the dream of some village chime,
Which in youth we loved to hear,
And when all of this life is gone, —
Even the hope, lingering now,
Like the last of the leaves left on
Autumn’s sere and faded bough, —
‘Twill seem as still those friends were near,
Who loved me in youth’s early day,
If in that parting hour I hear
The same sweet notes and die away, —
To that song of the olden time,
Breathed, like Hope’s farewell strain,
To say, in some brighter clime,
Life and youth will shine again!
WAKE THEE, MY DEAR.
Wake thee, my dear — thy dreaming
Till darker hours will keep;
While such a moon is beaming,
’Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.
Moments there are we number,
Moments of pain and care,
Which to oblivious slumber
Gladly the wretch would spare.
But now, — who’d think of dreaming
When Love his watch should keep?
While such a moon is beaming,
’Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.
If e’er the fates should sever
My life and hopes from thee, love,
The sleep that lasts for ever
Would then be sweet to me, love;
But now, — away with dreaming!
Till darker hours ‘twill keep;
While such a moon is beaming,
’Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.
THE BOY OF THE ALPS.
Lightly, Alpine rover,
Tread the mountains over;
Rude is the path thou’st yet to go;
Snow cliffs hanging o’er thee,
Fields of ice before thee,
While the hid torrent moans below.
Hark, the deep thunder,
Thro’ the vales yonder!
’Tis the huge avalanche downward cast;
From rock to rock
Rebounds the shock.
But courage, boy! the danger’s past.
Onward, youthful rover,
Tread the glacier over,