The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 113

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 pa.s.sion'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 pa.s.sion'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.

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!