Poems by Thomas Moore
Sorted by title, showing title and first line
Air-"Come live with me and be my love."
WRITTEN ON THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE.[1]
"The greater the truth, the worse the libel."
Half Whig, half Tory, like those mid-way things,
"Then I heard one saint speaking, and another saint said unto that saint,"
The present Lord Kenyon (the Peer who writes letters,
I just had turned the classic page.
--risum tenaetis, amici
BY SIR W. CURTIS.
I thought this heart enkindled lay
Not long in bed had Lyndhurst lain,
"animas sapientiores fieri quiescendo."
"Come, come," said Tom's father, "at your time of life,
[1]
A SHORT STRAIN OF MUSIC FROM THE ORCHESTRA.
How oft a cloud, with envious veil,
BY JOHN BULL.
See how, beneath the moonbeam's smile,
"If it be the undergraduate season at which this rabies religiosa is to be so fearful, what security has Mr. Goulburn against it at this moment, when his son is actually exposed to the full venom of an association with Dissenters?"
Of all speculations the market holds forth,
Behold, my love, the curious gem
"A Temple to Friendship;" said Laura, enchanted,
'Twas on the Red Sea coast, at morn, we met
"Up!" said the Spirit and ere I could pray
TO .......
[1]
Night closed around the conqueror's way,
God preserve us!--there's nothing now safe from assault;--
FROM ALCIPHRON AT ALEXANDRIA TO CLEON AT ATHENS.
FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.
FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.
FROM ORCUS, HIGH PRIEST OF MEMPHIS, TO DECIUS, THE PRAETORIAN PREFECT.
(SUNG IN THE CHARACTER OF BRITANNIA.)
All that's bright must fade,--
Almighty GOD! when round thy shrine
Alone in crowds to wander on,
BANK.
"quem das finem, rex magne, laborum?"
Air.--Come with me, and we will go
Fine and feathery artisan,
Friend of my soul, this goblet sip,
I filled to thee, to thee I drank,
in lachrymas verterat omne merum.
"She never looked so kind before--
And doth not a meeting like this make amends,
Angel of Charity, who, from above,
Tho' famed was Mesmer, in his day,
"Histoire d'Anne Boleyn."
Loud complaints being made in these quick-reading times,
When erst, my Southey, thy tuneful tongue
After some observations from Dr. M'Grig
As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow
As down in the sunless retreats of the Ocean,
As slow our ship her foamy track
As vanquished Erin wept beside
Ask not if still I love,
'Twas in the fair Aspasia's bower,
[1]
At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly
Avenging and bright fall the swift sword of Erin[1]
Awake, arise, thy light is come;[1]
Yes, Winchelsea (I tremble while I pen it),
"I authorized my Committee to take the step which they did, of proposing a fair comparison of strength, upon the understanding that whichever of the two should prove to be the weakest, should give way to the other."
I knew by the smoke, that so gracefully curled
Down in yon summer vale,
By the hope within us springing,
Behold the Sun, how bright
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
The brilliant black eye
The song that lightens the languid way,
Bright be thy dreams--may all thy weeping
Bright moon, that high in heaven art shining,
Bring the bright garlands hither,
But who shall see the glorious day
By that Lake, whose gloomy shore
Calm be thy sleep as infant's slumbers!
Here I am, at headquarters, dear Terry, once more,
A hunter once in that grove reclined,
I have a garden of my own,
Sir--A well-known classical traveller, while employed in exploring, some time since, the supposed site of the Temple of Diana of Ephesus, was so fortunate, in the course of his researches, as to light upon a very ancient bark manuscript, which has tu
Cloris! if I were Persia's king,
FOUNDED UPON SOME LATE CALCULATIONS.
Come not, oh LORD, in the dread robe of splendor
Come o'er the sea,
Come, chase that starting tear away,
Come, play me that simple air again,
Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer,
Come, send round the wine, and leave points of belief
Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish,
While I touch the string,
FROM HIS EXCELLENCY DON STREPITOSO DIABOLO, ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY TO HIS SATANIC MAJESTY.
utrum horum
The Gentleman's Proposal.
Preface.
Said Cotton to Corn, t'other day,
One night the nymph called country dance--
They told her that he, to whose vows she had listened
Place the helm on thy brow,
A lottery, a Lottery,
"She has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool;
Dear Harp of my Country! in darkness I found thee,
Dear? yes, tho' mine no more,
[1]
"o ego non felix, quam tu fugis, ut pavet acres
Of various scraps and fragments built,
'Twas a new feeling--something more
Do not say that life is waning,
"vox clamantis in deserto."
Dost thou remember that place so lonely,
Dreaming for ever, vainly dreaming,
In slumber, I prithee how is it
Drink of this cup;--you'll find there's a spell in
Drink to her, who long,
How sweet the answer Echo makes
Sic juvat perire.
Though sorrow long has worn my heart;
monstrum nulla virtute redemptum.
What news to-day?--"Oh! worse and worse--
Said his Highness to Ned,[1] with that grim face of his,
"I want the Court Guide," said my lady, "to look
"I never gave a kiss (says Prue),
Last night, as lonely o'er my fire I sat,
Dear Lyndhurst,--you'll pardon my making thus free,--
Southampton.
Dear John, as I know, like our brother of London,
"Ahi, mio Ben!"
Alas! my dear friend, what a state of affairs!
Lament, lament, Sir Isaac Heard,
Erin, the tear and the smile in thine eyes,
Like the bright lamp, that shone in Kildare's holy fane,[1]
Oh! weep for the hour,
In thus connecting together a series of Songs by a thread of poetical narrative, my chief object has been to combine Recitation with Music, so as to enable a greater number of persons to join in the performance, by enlisting as readers those who may
Yet, even here, tho' Fiction rules the hour,
Wednesday.
I've had a dream that bodes no good
PROEM.
I saw it all in Fancy's glass--
PROEM.
PROEM
PROEM.
PROEM.
The money raised--the army ready--
Fairest! put on awhile
Fallen is thy Throne, oh Israel!
The more I've viewed this world, the more I've found,
Yes! had I leisure to sigh and mourn,
Fare thee well, thou lovely one!
Farewell!--but whenever you welcome the hour.
Farewell, Theresa! yon cloud that over
Fear not that, while around thee
Fill the bumper fair!
Hark, 'tis the sound that charms
Flow on, thou shining river;
Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour,
I have been, like Puck, I have been, in a trice,
For thee alone I brave the boundless deep,
Forget not the field where they perished,
Here lies Factotum Ned at last;
Blest infant of eternity!
Pity me, love! I'll pity thee,
Nobilitas sola est atque unica virtus.--JUV.
From life without freedom, say, who would not fly?
Fill high the cup with liquid flame,
Cum digno digna.....
Paris, March 30,1833.
From this hour the pledge is given,
One day the Chinese Bird of Royalty, FUM,
Gayly sounds the castanet,
Haste, Maami, the spring is nigh;
scripsit quidem fata, sed sequitur.
Go forth to the Mount; bring the olive-branch home,[1]
Go where glory waits thee,
Go, let me weep--there's bliss in tears,
Go, now, and dream o'er that joy in thy slumber--
Go, then--'tis vain to hover
As I sate in my study, lone and still,
List! 'tis a Grecian maid that sings,
I love a maid, a mystic maid,
Hark! 'tis the breeze of twilight calling;
Hark! the vesper hymn is stealing
Has sorrow thy young days shaded,
"At the interment of the Duke of York, Lord Eldon, in order to guard against the effects of the damp, stood upon his hat during the whole of the ceremony."
Hear me but once, while o'er the grave,
Her last words, at parting, how can I forget?
Here, at thy tomb, these tears I shed,
Here sleeps the Bard who knew so well
Here's the bower she loved so much,
Here, take my heart--'twill be safe in thy keeping,
"The night wind is moaning with mournful sigh,
Come, fill round a bumper, fill up to the brim,
Hope comes again, to this heart long a stranger,
odi profanum, valgus et arceo;
[1]
The man who keeps a conscience pure,
persico odi, puer, adparatus;
How dear to me the hour when daylight dies,
How happy, once, tho' winged with sighs,
How lightly mounts the Muse's wing,
How oft has the Banshee cried,
Oft, when the watching stars grow pale,
If I speak to thee in friendship's name,
Whene'er you're in doubt, said a Sage I once knew,
ACCORDING TO THE NEWEST RECEIPT AS DISCLOSED IN A LATE HERALDIC WORK,[1]
qui facit per alium facit per se.
"Hush, hush!"--how well
Hush, sweet Lute, thy songs remind me
Oh, lost, forever lost--no more
If, after all, you still will doubt and fear me,
I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,
I saw the moon rise clear
I saw thy form in youthful prime,
I wish I was by that dim Lake,[1]
I'd mourn the hopes that leave me,
I've a secret to tell thee, but hush! not here,--
If in loving, singing, night and day
If thou wouldst have me sing and play,
If thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air,
[1]
When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow,
Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire, etc.
"Cosi quel fiato gli spiriti mali
With women and apples both Paris and Adam
o dulces comitum valete coetus!
'Twas but for a moment--and yet in that time
Between Adam and me the great difference is,
In myrtle wreaths my votive sword I'll cover,
In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown,
SCENE.--Penenden Plain. In the middle, a caldron boiling. Thunder.--
And do I then wonder that Julia deceives me,
It glads us much to be able to say,
"This clamor which pretends to be raised for the safety of religion has almost worn put the very appearance of it, and rendered us not only the most divided but the most immoral people upon the face of the earth."
September, 1818.
According to some learned opinions
Is it not sweet to think, hereafter,
It is not the tear at this moment shed,
Whisperings, heard by wakeful maids,
Keep those eyes still purely mine,
WRITTEN AFTER THE LATE NEGOTIATION FOR A NEW MINISTRY.
To
[1]
"sic vos non vobis."
As news from Olympus has grown rather rare,
Lay his sword by his side,[1]--it hath served him too well
"We are persuaded that this our artificial man will not only walk and speak and perform most of the outward functions of animal life, but (being wound up once a week) will perhaps reason as well as most of your country parsons."--"Memoirs of Martinus
Lesbia hath a beaming eye,
Let Erin remember the days of old.
Let thy joys alone be remembered now,
Let's take this world as some wide scene.
Arrah, where were you, Murthagh, that beautiful day?--
Light sounds the harp when the combat is over,
Like morning, when her early breeze
Like one who, doomed o'er distant seas
If ever life was prosperously cast,
In the dirge we sung o'er him no censure was heard,
principibus placuisse viris!
[1]
carbone notati.
Gia era in loco ove s'udia l'rimbombo
That sky of clouds is not the sky
Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer roved,
Wanted--Authors of all-work to job for the season,
To the tune of "There was a little man, and he wooed a little maid."
Long years have past, old friend, since we
--in Metii decenaat Judicis aures.
So gently in peace Alcibiades smiled,
Lord, who shall bear that day, so dread, so splendid,
If thou wouldst have thy charms enchant our eyes,
At morn, beside yon summer sea,
Love had a fever--ne'er could close
Eque brevi verbo ferre perenne malum.
Quand l'homme commence à raissonner,
"Here we dwell, in holiest bowers,
Young Love found a Dial once in a dark shade
'Tis said--but whether true or not
Love is a hunter-boy,
Love thee, dearest? love thee?
Love thee?--so well, so tenderly
Pain and sorrow shall vanish before us--
Sing to Love--for, oh, 'twas he
Oh! the days are gone, when Beauty bright
Love, wandering through the golden maze
The song of war shall echo thro' our mountains,
Che con le lor bugie pajon divini.
MONDAY, MARCH 13, 1826.
Merrily every bosom boundeth,
Mind not tho' daylight around us is breaking,--
Carlton Terrace, 1832.
"His Lordship said that it took a long time for a moral position to find its way across the Atlantic. He was very sorry that its voyage had been so long," etc.--Speech of Lord Dudley and Ward on Colonial Slavery, March 8.
ADDRESSED TO J. ATKINSON, ESQ. M. R. I. A.
TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.
Of all the odd plans of this monstrously queer age,
"The widow of Nethercoat is appointed jailer of Loughrea, in the room of her deceased husband."--Limerick Chronicle.
"My birth-day"--what a different sound
My gentle harp, once more I waken
My harp has one unchanging theme,
I give thee all--I can no more--
My Mopsa is little, my Mopsa is brown,
In vain we fondly strive to trace
Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns
Ne'er ask the hour--what is it to us
Ne'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools;
Come, listen to my story, while
"His 'prentice han'
Come, step in, gentlefolks, here ye may view
With all humility we beg
Sir,--
Dear Coz, as I know neither you nor Miss Draper,
Nights of music, nights of loving,
No, not more welcome the fairy numbers
No--leave my heart to rest, if rest it may,
Good reader! if you e'er have seen,
Not from thee the wound should come,
Of all the misfortunes as yet brought to pass
O say, thou best and brightest,
Of all the fair months, that round the sun
INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY THE PROPRIETOR IN FULL COSTUME, ON THE 24TH OF NOVEMBER, 1812.
(Entering as if to announce the Play.)
--altum aedificat caput."
Et tu, Brute!
Quit the sword, thou King of men,
BY SIR THOMAS LETHBRIDGE.
Great Sultan, how wise are thy state compositions!
Let other bards to groves repair,
[1]
Give me the harp of epic song,
[1]
[1]
I pray thee, by the gods above,
[1]
Fly not thus my brow of snow,
[1]
When I behold the festive train
Ripened by the solar beam,
[1]
He, who instructs the youthful crew
[1]
When Gold, as fleet as zephyr's' pinion,
[1]
[1]
[1]
[1]
[1]
They wove the lotus band to deck
[1]
[1]
Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn
Now Neptune's month our sky deforms,
A broken cake, with honey sweet,
With twenty chords my lyre is hung,
Fare thee well, perfidious maid,
Awhile I bloomed, a happy flower,
Monarch Love, resistless boy,
Spirit of Love, whose locks unrolled,
Hither, gentle Muse of mine,
Would that I were a tuneful lyre,
When Cupid sees how thickly now,
Sculptor, wouldst thou glad my soul,
[1]
The women tell me every day
[1]
[1]
[1]
They tell how Atys, wild with love,
I will, I will, the conflict's past,
[1]
[1]
I know that Heaven hath sent me here,
When Spring adorns the dewy scene,
[1]
While our rosy fillets shed
[1]
When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy,
Within this goblet, rich and deep,
[1]
'Tis true, my fading years decline,
When my thirsty soul I steep,
[1]
[1]
And now with all thy pencil's truth,
Now the star of day is high,
[1]
[1]
The Phrygian rock, that braves the storm,
I often wish this languid lyre,
To all that breathe the air of heaven,
Yes--loving is a painful thrill,
Once in each revolving year,
Thy harp may sing of Troy's alarms,
We read the flying courser's name
As, by his Lemnian forge's flame,
[1]
[1]
[1]
'Twas noon of night, when round the pole
[1]
How I love the festive boy,
[1]
[1]
'Twas night, and many a circling bowl
Let us drain the nectared bowl,
[1]
[Greek: NEA turannei]
Oft in the stilly night,
Oh banquet not in those shining bowers,
Oh fair! oh purest! be thou the dove
Oh for the swords of former time!
Thro' Erin's Isle,
"He healeth the broken in heart and bindeth up their wounds,"
Oh! blame not the bard, if he fly to the 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! think not my spirits are always as light,
Oh! Arranmore, loved Arranmore,
Oh, call it by some better name,
Oh, come to me when daylight sets;
Oh, could we do with this world of ours
Oh, days of youth and joy, long clouded,
Oh, do not look so bright and blest,
Oh, guard our affection, nor e'er let it feel
Oh, no--not even when first we loved,
Our white sail caught the evening ray,
Oh, teach me to love Thee, to feel what thou art,
Oh, the sight entrancing,
Oh, ye Dead! oh, ye Dead![1] whom we know by the light you give
To no one Muse does she her glance confine,
When thro' life unblest we rove,
Pure as the mantle, which, o'er him who stood
Sweet spirit! if thy airy sleep
One bumper at parting!--tho' many
Couldst thou look as dear as when
Our first young love resembles
About fifty years since, in the days of our daddies,
[1]
WRITTEN ON THE APPROACH OF WAR.
Peace be around thee, wherever thou rov'st;
Peace to the slumberers!
When I am dead.
Among other stray flashmen disposed of, this week,
Poor broken flower! what art can now recover thee?
Poor wounded heart, farewell!
--"quas ipsa decus sibi dia Camilla
Quick! we have but a second,
Reason and Folly and Beauty, they say,
A Bishop and a bold dragoon,
I'm quite of your mind;--tho' these Pats cry aloud
suosque tibi commendat, Troja Penates hos cape fatorum comites.
"Sir Robert Peel believed it was necessary to originate all respecting religion and trade in a Committee of the House."
Remember the time, in La Mancha's shades,
Remember thee? yes, while there's life in this heart,
After a Conversation with Lord John Russell, in which he had intimated some Idea of giving up all political Pursuits.
Resolved--to stick to every particle
The darkness that hung upon Willumberg's walls
View of the Lake of Geneva from the Jura.[1]--Anxious to reach it before the Sun went down.--Obliged to proceed on Foot.--Alps.--Mont Blanc.--Effect of the Scene.
FATE OF GENEVA IN THE YEAR 1782.
Fancy and Truth--Hippomenes and Atalanta. Mont Blanc.--Clouds.
The Picture Gallery.--Albano's Rape of Proserpine.--Reflections.-- Universal Salvation.--Abraham sending away Agar, by Guercino.--Genius.
The English to be met with everywhere.--Alps and Threadneedle Street.--The Simplon and the Stocks.--Rage for travelling.--Blue Stockings among the Wahabees.--Parasols and Pyramids.--Mrs. Hopkins and the Wall of China.
Fancy and Reality.--Rain-drops and Lakes.--Plan of a Story.--Where to place the Scene of it.--In some unknown Region.--Psalmanazar's Imposture with respect to the Island of Formosa.
The Fall of Venice not to be lamented--Former Glory.--Expedition against Constantinople.--Giustinianis.--Republic.--Characteristics of the old Government.--Golden Book.--Brazen Mouths.--Spies.--Dungeons.--Present Desolation.
Lord Byron's Memoirs, written by himself.--Reflections, when about to read them.
Female Beauty at Venice.--No longer what it was in the time of Titian.-- His mistress.--Various Forms in which he has painted her.--Venus.--Divine and profane Love.--La Fragilita d'Amore--Paul Veronese.--His Women.-- Marriage of Cana.--Character of I
Verses of Hippolyta to her Husband.
No--'tis not the region where Love's to be found--
Music in Italy.--Disappointed by it.--Recollections or other Times and Friends.--Dalton.--Sir John Stevenson.--His Daughter.--Musical Evenings together.
Reflections on reading Du Cerceau's Account of the Conspiracy of Rienzi, in 1347.--The Meeting of the Conspirators on the Night of the 19th of May.--Their Procession in the Morning to the Capitol.--Rienzi's Speech.
Fragment of a Dream.--The great Painters supposed to be Magicians.--The Beginnings of the Art.--Gildings on the Glories and Draperies.-- Improvements under Giotto, etc.--The first Dawn of the true Style in Masaccio.--Studied by all the great Artists
Mary Magdalen.--Her Story.--Numerous Pictures of her.--Correggio--Guido --Raphael, etc.--Canova's two exquisite Statues.--The Somariva Magdalen. --Chantrey's Admiration of Canova's Works.
A Visit to the house where Rousseau lived with Madame de Warrens.-- Their Menage.--Its Grossness.--Claude Anet.--Reverence with which the spot is now visited.--Absurdity of this blind Devotion to Fame.--Feelings excited by the Beauty and Seclusion of
Different Attitudes in which Authors compose.--Bayes, Henry Stevens, Herodotus, etc.--Writing in Bed--in the Fields.--Plato and Sir Richard Blackmore.--Fiddling with Gloves and Twigs.--Madame de Staël.--Rhyming on the Road, in an old Calêche.
Rich and rare were the gems she wore,
"Go!" said the angry, weeping maid,
Oh Wellington and Stephenson,
"Good night! good night!"--And is it so?
Rose of the Desert! thou, whose blushing ray,
Round the world goes, by day and night,
Row gently here,
Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark--
Who'll buy a little boy? Look, yonder is he,
Say, what shall be our sport today?
Say, what shall we dance?
[1]
Ere Psyche drank the cup that shed
See, the dawn from Heaven is breaking
Shall the Harp then be silent, when he who first gave
She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
She sung of Love, while o'er her lyre
Shine out, Stars! let Heaven assemble
Should those fond hopes e'er forsake thee,
[1]
Since first Thy Word awaked my heart,
Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me
Sing--sing--Music was given,
"nec tu sperne piis venientia somnia portis:
"And now," quoth the goddess, in accents jocose,
"Slumber, oh slumber; if sleeping thou mak'st
So warmly we met and so fondly we parted,
From tongue to tongue the rumor flew;
I come from a land in the sun bright deep,
[1]
They came from a land beyond the sea,
"And those things do best please me,
TIME--THE NINTH CENTURY.
"We are ever standing on the defensive. All that we say to them is, 'leave us alone.' The Established Church is part and parcel of the constitution of this country. You are bound to conform to this constitution. We ask of you nothing more:--let us al
"The parting Genius is with sighing sent."
qua via difficilis, quaque est via nulla
O Abyssinian tree,
haud curat Hippoclides.
FIRST CUPBEARER.
[1]
Fly from the world, O Bessy! to me,
Have you not seen the timid tear,
If I swear by that eye, you'll allow,
Take back the sigh, thy lips of art
The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove,
Think on that look whose melting ray
When Time who steals our years away
Where is the heart that would not give
Why does azure deck the sky?
Yes! had I leisure to sigh and mourn,
WRITTEN IN IRELAND. 1799.
"And Miriam, the Prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her band; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances."
The dance was o'er, yet still in dreams
But ah! if vain the patriot's zeal,
Hark! from Spain, indignant Spain,
[1]
Every season hath its pleasures;
FIRST VISIT.
"This much I dare say, that, since lording and loitering hath come up, preaching hath come down, contrary to the Apostles' times. For they preached and lorded not; and now they lord and preach not.... Ever since the Prelates were made Lords and Noble
ST. SENANUS.[1]
[1]
[1]
A beam of tranquillity smiled in the west,
Still thou fliest, and still I woo thee,
Still when daylight o'er the wave
Still, like dew in silence falling,
Sublime was the warning that Liberty spoke,
Puir, profligate Londoners, having heard tell
Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well,
But wake, the trumpet's blast again,
TO JULIA.
WRITTEN ON RETURNING A BLANK BOOK.
Take hence the bowl;--tho' beaming
Tell her, oh, tell her, the lute she left lying
Next week will be published (as "Lives" are the rage)
Supposed to be sung by OLD PROSY, the Jew, in the character of Major CARTWRIGHT.
The bird, let loose in eastern skies,[1]
Lightly, Alpine rover,
"That boy will be the death of me."
A letter having been addressed to a very distinguished personage, requesting him to become the Patron of this Orange Club, a polite answer was forthwith returned, of which we have been fortunate enough to obtain a copy.
"A Christian of the best edition."--RABELAIS.
"Come, tell me," says Rosa, as kissing and kist,
[1]
[1]
O'er mountains bright
"Solemn dances were, on great festivals and celebrations, admitted among the primitive Christians, in which even the Bishops and dignified Clergy were performers. Scaliger says, that the first Bishops were called praesules[2] for other reason than th
The dawn is breaking o'er us,
The beam of morning trembling
[1]
But, whither have these gentle ones,
--"fessus jam sudat asellus,
Who has not felt how sadly sweet
Nell ora, credo, che dell'oriente
The dream of those days when first I sung thee is o'er,
Air.--"A master I have, and I am his man,
A wounded Chieftain, lying
Come, May, with all thy flowers,
"We are told that the bigots are growing old and fast wearing out. If it be so why not let us die in peace?"
Remember'st thou that setting sun,
Night waneth fast, the morning star
'Twas on a day
Come, maids and youths, for here we sell
Down in the valley come meet me to-night,
Amiens.
Paris.
Oh Dick! you may talk of your writing and reading,
"Return!"--no, never, while the withering hand
My Lord, the Instructions, brought to-day,
What a time since I wrote!--I'm a sad, naughty girl--
Yours of the 12th received, just now--
Before we sketch the Present--let us cast
Dear DICK, while old DONALDSON'S[1] mending my stays,--
Well, it isn't the King, after all, my dear creature!
Yes, 'twas a cause, as noble and as great
At last, DOLLY,--thanks to potent emetic,
Who d' ye think we've got here?--quite reformed from the giddy.
Just in time for the post, dear, and monstrously busy,
STANZAS ENCLOSED.
He comes from Erin's speechful shore
As it was but last week that I sint you a letther,
The Fudges In England. Letter V. From Larry O'Branigan, In England, To His Wife Judy, At Mullinafad.
Dear Judy, I sind you this bit of a letther,
How I grieve you're not with us!--pray, come, if you can,
IRREGULAR ODE.
Tuesday evening,
These few brief lines, my reverend friend,
Dear Dick--just arrived at my own humblegîte,
The Garland I send thee was culled from those bowers
Dost thou not hear the silver bell,
Ad harmoniam canere mundum.
ah quoties dubies Scriptis exarsit amator.
TO HER LOVER.
The halcyon hangs o'er ocean,
The harp that once thro' Tara's halls
In vain all the Knights to the Underwald wooed her,
Be still my heart: I hear them come:
'Twas midnight dark,
"It would be impossible for his Royal Highness to disengage his person from the accumulating pile of papers that encompassed it."
Thro' grief and thro' danger thy smile hath cheered my way,
[1]
Grow to my lip, thou sacred kiss,
WRITTEN AT NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA.
Fly swift, my light gazelle,
"Tell me, kind Seer, I pray thee,
When in death I shall calmly recline,
Wouldst know what tricks, by the pale moonlight,
Who has not heard of the Vale of CASHMERE,
"Cio che si perde qui, là si raguna."
PREFACE.
FOUNDED ON A LATE DISTRESSING INCIDENT.
"Come, if thy magic Glass have power
When o'er the silent seas alone,
There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
SUGGESTED BY THE LATE WORK OF THE REVEREND MR. IRVING "ON PROPHECY."
The Minstrel-Boy to the war is gone,
In yonder valley there dwelt, alone,
"Look here," said Rose, with laughing eyes,
TO .... ....
--nova monstra creavit.
Strike the gay harp! see the moon is on high,
PARODY ON SIR CHARLES HAN. WILLIAMS'S FAMOUS ODE,
'Tis believed that this Harp, which I wake now for thee,
Yes, sad one of Sion,[1] if closely resembling,
HE.
"To Panurge was assigned the Laird-ship of Salmagundi, which was yearly worth 6,789,106,789 ryals besides the revenue of the Locusts and Periwinkles, amounting one year with another to the value of 2,485,768," etc.--RABELAIS.
To the people of England, the humble Petition
Dulcis conscia lectuli lucerna.
Still thus, when twilight gleamed,
Being weary of love,
Tho' dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget them,
"I trust we shall part as we met, in peace and charity. My last payment to you paid your salary up to the 1st of this month. Since that, I owe you for one month, which, being a long month, of thirty-one days, amounts, as near as I can calculate, to s
---- vo cercand' io,
Oh, have you heard what hapt of late?
Annulus ille viri.
TO .... ....
Fleetly o'er the moonlight snows
I dreamt that, in the Paphian groves,
Instrumenta regni.--TACITUS.
PREFACE.
Say, did you not hear a voice of death!
My fates had destined me to rove
"Now what, we ask, is become of this Sinking Fund--these eight millions of surplus above expenditure, which were to reduce the interest of the national debt by the amount of four hundred thousand pounds annually? Where, indeed, is the Sinking Fund it
My love and I, the other day,
No, ne'er did the wave in its element steep
Silent, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy water,
The valley lay smiling before me,
Let History boast of her Romans and Spartans,
There's a song of the olden time,
WRITTEN ABOARD THE BOSTON FRIGATE
Come list, while I tell of the heart-wounded Stranger
TO THE HONORABLE MRS. NORTON.
The summer webs that float and shine,
Chloris, I swear, by all I ever swore,
A sylph, as bright as ever sported
On beds of snow the moonbeam slept,
I've heard, there was in ancient days
doctoribus loetamur tribus.
The time I've lost in wooing,
Our earth, as it rolls thro' the regions of space,
The turf shall be my fragrant shrine;
There are two Loves, the poet sings,
Far as the sight can reach, beneath as clear
It came o'er her sleep, like a voice of those days,
What life like that of the bard can be--
A TRIO.
"And drink oblivion to our woes."
The wine-cup is circling in Almhin's hall,[1]
Come, tell me where the maid is found.
The world was husht, the moon above
I bring thee, love, a golden chain,
There came a nymph dancing
The young May moon is beaming, love,
Oh, the joys of our evening posada,
The young rose I give thee, so dewy and bright,
The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking,
Then first from Love, in Nature's bowers,
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 a bleak Desert, where daylight grows weary
There's something strange, I know not what,
They know not my heart, who believe there can be
They may rail at this life--from the hour I began it,
They met but once, in youth's sweet hour,
They tell me thou'rt the favored guest
This life is all checkered with pleasures and woes,
This world is all a fleeting show,
Tho' 'tis all but a dream at the best,
Tho' humble the banquet to which I invite thee,
Tho' lightly sounds the song I sing to thee,
Tho' the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see,
Those evening bells! those evening bells!
(Air.--Unknown.)[1]
Thou bidst me sing the lay I sung to thee
Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken
BY LORD STANLEY.
What, thou, my friend! a man of rhymes,
(VIDE DESCRIPTION OF A LATE FÊTE.)[1]
I sat me down in my easy chair,
Oft have I seen, in gay, equestrian pride,
nulla tuum nobis subducet femina lectum, etc., Lib. iv. Carm. 13.
If life for me hath joy or light,
'Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking,
'Tis sweet to think, that, where'er we rove,
'Tis the last rose of summer
With all my soul, then, let us part,
Never mind how the pedagogue proses,
And hast thou marked the pensive shade,
Maria pur quando vuol, non è bisogna mutar ni faccia ni voce per esser un Angelo.[1]
The world has just begun to steal
Put off the vestal Veil, nor, oh!
Come, take thy harp--'tis vain to muse
Remember him thou leavest behind,
Sweet lady, look not thus again:
That wrinkle, when first I espied it,
'Tis time, I feel, to leave thee now,
When I loved you, I can't but allow
Go then, if she, whose shade thou art,
To be the theme of every hour
Is it not sweet, beloved youth,
When, casting many a look behind,
Thy song has taught my heart to feel
Concealed within the shady wood
When midnight came to close the year,
WRITTEN AT LACOCK ABBEY, JANUARY, 1832.
I could resign that eye of blue.
GENERAL IN HIS MAJESTY'S FORCES, MASTER-GENERAL OF THE ORDNANCE, CONSTABLE OF THE TOWER, ETC.
FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804.
Donington Park, 1802
BRIGHTON, JUNE, 1825.
FROM BERMUDA.[1]
Oh! if your tears are given to care,
I saw the peasant's hand unkind
Mock me no more with Love's beguiling dream,
Though Fate, my girl, may bid us part,
Why, let the stingless critic chide
When Time was entwining the garland of years,
To Ladies' eyes around, boy,
"Tunnebridge est à la même distance de Londres, que Fontainebleau
Gift of the Hero, on his dying day,
Written at Middleton.
ABOARD THE PHAETON FRIGATE, OFF THE AZORES, BY MOONLIGHT.
I'll ask the sylph who round thee flies,
In days, my Kate, when life was new,
I more than once have heard at night
Mon ame sur mon lèvre étoit lors toute entière.
To see thee every day that came,
Is not thy mind a gentle mind?
WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM.
Tell me the witching tale again,
WRITTEN IN A POCKET BOOK, 1822.
Phillis, you little rosy rake,
A far conserva, e cumulo d'amanti.
Is the song of Rosa mute?
Like one who trusts to summer skies,
Say, why should the girl of my soul be in tears
The wisest soul, by anguish torn,
effare causam nominis,
WRITTEN IN A COMMONPLACE BOOK, CALLED "THE BOOK OF FOLLIES;" IN WHICH EVERY ONE THAT OPENED IT WAS TO CONTRIBUTE SOMETHING.
With triumph, this morning, oh Boston! I hail
At morning, when the earth and sky
When I have seen thy snow-white wing
FROM BUFFALO, UPON LAKE ERIE.
They try to persuade me, my dear little sprite,
FROM THE BANKS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE.
IN ALLUSION TO SOME PARTNERSHIP IN A LOTTERY SHARE
FROM THE CITY OP WASHINGTON.
FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804.
AUTHOR OF THE POETICAL PORTRAITURE OF THE CHURCH.
What, you, too, my ******, in hashes so knowing,
No wonder bards, both high and low,
Imitated from Horace, lib. i, ode 3.
FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON.
To weave a garland for the rose.
To-day, dearest! is ours;
I pledge myself thro' thick and thin,
"If in China or among the natives of India, we claimed civil advantages which were connected with religious usages, little as we might value those forms in our hearts, we should think common decency required us to abstain from treating them with offe
Scripta manet.
peninsularum Sirmio, insularumque ocelle.
dicebas quondam, etc.
pauca nunciate meae puellae.
College.--We announced, in our last that Lefroy and Shaw were returned. They were chaired yesterday; the Students of the College determined, it would seem, to imitate the mob in all things, harnessing themselves to the car, and the Masters of Arts be
'Twas one of those dreams, that by music are brought,
Twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy brow?
Twopenny Post-Bag, INTERCEPTED LETTERS, ETC. LETTER IV. PAGE 584.
DEDICATION. TO STEPHEN WOOLRICHE, ESQ.
FROM COLONEL M'MAHON TO GOULD FRANCIS LECKIE, ESQ.
FROM GEORGE PRINCE REGENT TO THE EARL OF YARMOUTH.[1]
FROM THE RIGHT HON. PATRICK DUIGENAN TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR JOHN NICHOL.
FROM THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF CORK TO LADY---.
FROM ABDALLAH,[1] IN LONDON, TO MOHASSAN, IN ISPAHAN.
FROM MESSRS. LACKINGTON AND CO. TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ.
FROM COLONEL THOMAS TO ---- SKEFFINGTON, ESQ.
Unbind thee, love, unbind thee, love,
Up, sailor boy, 'tis day!
Ask what prevailing, pleasing power
[1]
Wake thee, my dear--thy dreaming
Wake up, sweet melody!
"War against Babylon!" shout we around,
Remember the glories of Brien the brave,
We may roam thro' this world, like a child at a feast,
Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb,
Weep on, weep on, your hour is past;
Weep, weep for him, the Man of God--[1]
Were not the sinful Mary's tears
TO ----.
HE.
Quest. Why is a Pump like Viscount Castlereagh?
When abroad in the world thou appearest.
When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved,
When first I met thee, warm and young,
When first that smile, like sunshine, blest my sight,
When he, who adores thee, has left but the name
When Love is kind,
When Love was a child, and went idling round,
When Love, who ruled as Admiral o'er
When midst the gay I meet
When night brings the hour
When on the lip the sigh delays,
When the first summer bee
When the sad word, "Adieu," from my lip is nigh falling,
When the wine-cup is smiling before us,
When thou art nigh, it seems
When thou shalt wander by that sweet light
When thro' the Piazzetta
When to sad Music silent you listen,
When twilight dews are falling soft
Whene'er I see those smiling eyes,
"Where are the visions that round me once hovered,
Oh, where's the slave so lowly,
Where is your dwelling, ye Sainted?
Where shall we bury our shame?
While gazing on the moon's light,
While History's Muse the memorial was keeping
Who is the Maid my spirit seeks,
Hymen, late, his love-knots selling,
Why does she so long delay?
Wind thy horn, my hunter boy,
With moonlight beaming
[1]
Away, away--you're all the same,
Wreath the bowl
Hither, Flora, Queen of Flowers!
Air.--"Sleep on, sleep on, my Kathleen dear.
Here is one leaf reserved for me,
See you, beneath yon cloud so dark,
Yes, yes, when, the bloom of Love's boyhood is o'er,
You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride,
Young Jessica sat all the day,
"Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth, one day,