The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 119

THE HALCYON HANGS O'ER OCEAN.

The halcyon hangs o'er ocean, The sea-lark skims the brine; This bright world's all in motion, No heart seems sad but mine.

To walk thro' sun-bright places, With heart all cold the while; To look in smiling faces, When we no more can smile;

To feel, while earth and heaven Around thee shine with bliss, To thee no light is given,-- Oh, what a doom is this!

THE WORLD WAS HUSHT.

The world was husht, the moon above Sailed thro' ether slowly, When near the cas.e.m.e.nt of my love, Thus I whispered lowly,-- "Awake, awake, how canst thou sleep?

"The field I seek to-morrow "Is one where man hath fame to reap, "And woman gleans but sorrow."

"Let battle's field be what it may.

Thus spoke a voice replying, "Think not thy love, while thou'rt away, "Will sit here idly sighing.

"No--woman's soul, if not for fame, "For love can brave all danger!

Then forth from out the cas.e.m.e.nt came A plumed and armed stranger.

A stranger? No; 'twas she, the maid, Herself before me beaming, With casque arrayed and falchion blade Beneath her girdle gleaming!

Close side by side, in freedom's fight, That blessed morning found us; In Victory's light we stood ere night, And Love the morrow crowned us!

THE TWO LOVES.

There are two Loves, the poet sings, Both born of Beauty at a birth: The one, akin to heaven, hath wings, The other, earthly, walks on earth.

With _this_ thro' bowers below we play, With _that_ thro' clouds above we soar; With both, perchance, may lose our way:-- Then, tell me which, Tell me which shall we adore?

The one, when tempted down from air, At Pleasure's fount to lave his lip, Nor lingers long, nor oft will dare His wing within the wave to dip.

While plunging deep and long beneath, The other bathes him o'er and o'er In that sweet current, even to death:-- Then, tell me which, Tell me which shall we adore?

The boy of heaven, even while he lies In Beauty's lap, recalls his home; And when most happy, inly sighs For something happier still to come.

While he of earth, too fully blest With this bright world to dream of more, Sees all his heaven on Beauty's breast:-- Then, tell me which, Tell me which shall we adore?

The maid who heard the poet sing These twin-desires of earth and sky, And saw while one inspired his string, The other glistened in his eye,-- To name the earthlier boy ashamed, To chose the other fondly loath, At length all blushing she exclaimed,-- "Ask not which, "Oh, ask not which--we'll worship both.

"The extremes of each thus taught to shun, "With hearts and souls between them given, "When weary of this earth with one, "We'll with the other wing to heaven."

Thus pledged the maid her vow of bliss; And while _one_ Love wrote down the oath, The other sealed it with a kiss; And Heaven looked on, Heaven looked on and hallowed both.

THE LEGEND OF PUCK THE FAIRY.

Wouldst know what tricks, by the pale moonlight, Are played by me, the merry little Sprite, Who wing thro' air from the camp to the court, From king to clown, and of all make sport; Singing, I am the Sprite Of the merry midnight, Who laugh at weak mortals and love the moonlight.

To a miser's bed, where he snoring slept And dreamt of his cash, I slyly crept; c.h.i.n.k, c.h.i.n.k o'er his pillow like money I rang, And he waked to catch--but away I sprang, Singing, I am the Sprite, etc.

I saw thro' the leaves, in a damsel's bower, She was waiting her love at that starlight hour: "Hist--hist!" quoth I, with an amorous sigh, And she flew to the door, but away flew I, Singing, I am the Sprite, etc.

While a bard sat inditing an ode to his love, Like a pair of blue meteors I stared from above, And he swooned--for he thought 'twas the ghost, poor man!

Of his lady's eyes, while away I ran, Singing, I am the Sprite, etc.

BEAUTY AND SONG.

Down in yon summer vale, Where the rill flows.

Thus said a Nightingale To his loved Rose:-- "Tho' rich the pleasures "Of song's sweet measures, "Vain were its melody, "Rose, without thee."

Then from the green recess Of her night-bower, Beaming with bashfulness, Spoke the bright flower:-- "Tho' morn should lend her "Its sunniest splendor, "What would the Rose be, "Unsung by thee?"

Thus still let Song attend Woman's bright way; Thus still let woman lend Light to the lay.

Like stars thro' heaven's sea Floating in harmony Beauty should glide along Circled by Song.

WHEN THOU ART NIGH.

When thou art nigh, it seems A new creation round; The sun hath fairer beams, The lute a softer sound.

Tho' thee alone I see, And hear alone thy sigh, 'Tis light, 'tis song to me, Tis all--when thou art nigh.

When thou art nigh, no thought Of grief comes o'er my heart; I only think--could aught But joy be where thou art?

Life seems a waste of breath, When far from thee I sigh; And death--ay, even death Were sweet, if thou wert nigh.