The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 110

THE YOUNG MULETEERS OF GRENADA.

Oh, the joys of our evening posada, Where, resting, at close of day, We, young Muleteers of Grenada, Sit and sing the sunshine away; So merry, that even the slumbers That round us hung seem gone; Till the lute's soft drowsy numbers Again beguile them on.

Oh the joys, etc.

Then as each to his loved sultana In sleep still breathes the sigh, The name of some black-eyed Tirana, Escapes our lips as we lie.

Till, with morning's rosy twinkle, Again we're up and gone-- While the mule-bell's drowsy tinkle Beguiles the rough way on.

Oh the joys of our merry posada, Where, resting at close of day, We, young Muleteers of Grenada, Thus sing the gay moments away.

TELL HER, OH, TELL HER.

Tell her, oh, tell her, the lute she left lying Beneath the green arbor is still lying there; And breezes like lovers around it are sighing, But not a soft whisper replies to their prayer.

Tell her, oh, tell her, the tree that, in going, Beside the green arbor she playfully set, As lovely as, ever is blushing and blowing, And not a, bright leaflet has fallen from it yet.

So while away from that arbor forsaken, The maiden is wandering, still let her be As true as the lute that no sighing can waken And blooming for ever, unchanged as the tree!

NIGHTS OF MUSIC.

Nights of music, nights of loving, Lost too soon, remembered long.

When we went by moonlight roving, Hearts all love and lips all song.

When this faithful lute recorded All my spirit felt to thee; And that smile the song rewarded-- Worth Whole years of fame to me!

Nights of song, and nights of splendor, Filled with joys too sweet to last-- Joys that, like the star-light, tender, While they sh.o.r.e no shadow cast.

Tho' all other happy hours From my fading memory fly, Of, that starlight, of those bowers, Not a beam, a leaf may die!

OUR FIRST YOUNG LOVE.

Our first young love resembles That short but brilliant ray, Which smiles and weeps and trembles Thro' April's earliest day.

And not all life before us, Howe'er its lights may play, Can shed a l.u.s.tre o'er us Like that first April ray.

Our summer sun may squander A blaze serener, grander; Our autumn beam May, like a dream Of heaven, die calm away; But no--let life before us Bring all the light it may, 'Twill ne'er shed l.u.s.tre o'er us Like that first youthful ray.

BLACK AND BLUE EYES.

The brilliant black eye May in triumph let fly All its darts without Caring who feels 'em; But the soft eye of blue, Tho' it scatter wounds too, Is much better pleased when it heals 'em-- Dear f.a.n.n.y!

Is much better pleased when it heals 'em.

The black eye may say, "Come and worship my ray-- "By adoring, perhaps you may move me!"

But the blue eye, half hid, Says from under its lid, "I love and am yours, if you love me!"

Yes, f.a.n.n.y!

The blue eye, half hid, Says, from under its lid, "I love and am yours, if you love me!"

Come tell me, then, why In that lovely blue eye Not a charm of its tint I discover; Oh why should you wear The only blue pair That ever said "No" to a lover?

Dear f.a.n.n.y!

Oh, why should you wear The only blue pair That ever said "No" to a lover?

DEAR f.a.n.n.y.

"She has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool; "She has wit, but you mustn't be caught, so;"

Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool, And 'tis not the first time I have thought so, Dear f.a.n.n.y.

'Tis not the first time I have thought so.

"She is lovely; then love her, nor let the bliss fly; "'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season;"

Thus Love has advised me and who will deny That Love reasons much better than Reason, Dear f.a.n.n.y?

Love reasons much better than Reason.

FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM.

From life without freedom, say, who would not fly?

For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die?

Hark!--hark! 'tis the trumpet! the call of the brave, The death-song of tyrants, the dirge of the slave.

Our country lies bleeding--haste, haste to her aid; One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade.