The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 135

Even these, too, ere the morning, fled; And, tho' the charm still lingered on, That o'er each sense her song had shed, The song itself was faded, gone;--

Gone, like the thoughts that once were ours, On summer days, ere youth had set; Thoughts bright, we know, as summer flowers, Tho' _what_ they were we now forget.

In vain with hints from other strains I wooed this truant air to come-- As birds are taught on eastern plains To lure their wilder kindred home.

In vain:--the song that Sappho gave, In dying, to the mournful sea, Not muter slept beneath the wave Than this within my memory.

At length, one morning, as I lay In that half-waking mood when dreams Unwillingly at last gave way To the full truth of daylight's beams,

A face--the very face, methought, From which had breathed, as from a shrine Of song and soul, the notes I sought-- Came with its music close to mine;

And sung the long-lost measure o'er,-- Each note and word, with every tone And look, that lent it life before,-- All perfect, all again my own!

Like parted souls, when, mid the Blest They meet again, each widowed sound Thro' memory's realm had winged in quest Of its sweet mate, till all were found.

Nor even in waking did the clew, Thus strangely caught, escape again; For never lark its matins knew So well as now I knew this strain.

And oft when memory's wondrous spell Is talked of in our tranquil bower, I sing this lady's song, and tell The vision of that morning hour.

[1] In these stanzas I have done little more than relate a fact in verse; and the lady, whose singing gave rise to this curious instance of the power of memory in sleep, is Mrs. Robert Arkwright.

SONG.

Where is the heart that would not give Years of drowsy days and nights, One little hour, like this, to live-- Full, to the brim, of life's delights?

Look, look around, This fairy ground, With love-lights glittering o'er; While cups that shine With freight divine Go coasting round its sh.o.r.e.

Hope is the dupe of future hours, Memory lives in those gone by; Neither can see the moment's flowers Springing up fresh beneath the eye, Wouldst thou, or thou, Forego what's _now_, For all that Hope may say?

No--Joy's reply, From every eye, Is, "Live we while we may,"

SONG OF THE POCO-CURANTE SOCIETY.

_haud curat Hippoclides_.

ERASM. _Adag_.

To those we love we've drank tonight; But now attend and stare not, While I the ampler list recite Of those for whom WE CARE NOT.

For royal men, howe'er they frown, If on their fronts they bear not That n.o.blest gem that decks a crown, The People's Love--WE CARE NOT.

For slavish men who bend beneath A despot yoke, yet dare not p.r.o.nounce the will whose very breath Would rend its links--WE CARE NOT.

For priestly men who covet sway And wealth, tho' they declare not; Who point, like finger-posts, the way They never go--WE CARE NOT.

For martial men who on their sword, Howe'er it conquers, wear not The pledges of a soldier's word, Redeemed and pure--WE CARE NOT.

For legal men who plead for wrong.

And, tho' to lies they swear not, Are hardly better than the throng Of those who do--WE CARE NOT.

For courtly men who feed upon The land, like grubs, and spare not The smallest leaf where they can sun Their crawling limbs--WE CARE NOT.

For wealthy men who keep their mines In darkness hid, and share not The paltry ore with him who pines In honest want--WE CARE NOT.

For prudent men who hold the power Of Love aloof, and bare not Their hearts in any guardless hour To Beauty's shaft--WE CARE NOT.

For all, in short, on land or sea, In camp or court, who _are_ not, Who never _were_, or e'er _will_ be Good men and true--WE CARE NOT.

ANNE BOLEYN.

TRANSLATION FROM THE METRICAL

"_Histoire d'Anne Boleyn."_

_"S'elle estoit belle et de taille elegante, Estoit des yeulx encor plus attirante, Lesquelz scavoit bien conduyre a propos En les lenant quelquefoys en repos; Aucune foys envoyant en message Porter du cueur le secret tesmoignage_."

Much as her form seduced the sight, Her eyes could even more surely woo; And when and how to shoot their light Into men's hearts full well she knew.

For sometimes in repose she hid Their rays beneath a downcast lid; And then again, with wakening air, Would send their sunny glances out, Like heralds of delight, to bear Her heart's sweet messages about.

THE DREAM OF THE TWO SISTERS.

FROM DANTE.

_Nell ora, credo, che dell'oriente Prima raggio nel monte Citerea, Che di fuoco d'amor par sempre dente, Giovane e bella in sogno mi parea Donna vedere andar per una landa Cogliendo flori; e cantando dicea ;-- Sappia qualunque'l mio nome dimanda, Ch'io mi son Lia, e vo movendo 'ntorno Le belle mani a farmi una ghirlanda-- Per piacermi allo specchio qui m'adorno; Ma mia suora Rachel mai non si smaga Dal suo ammiraglio, e siede tutto il giorno_.