The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 25

Astronomy finds in those eyes Better light than she studies above; And Music would borrow your sighs As the melody fittest for Love.

Your Arithmetic only can trip If to count your own charms you endeavor; And Eloquence glows on your lip When you swear that you'll love me for ever.

Thus you see, what a brilliant alliance Of arts is a.s.sembled in you;-- A course of more exquisite science Man never need wish to pursue.

And, oh!--if a Fellow like me May confer a diploma of hearts, With my lip thus I seal your degree, My divine little Mistress of Arts!

ON THE DEATH OF A LADY,

Sweet spirit! if thy airy sleep Nor sees my tears not hears my sighs, Then will I weep, in anguish weep, Till the last heart's drop fills mine eyes.

But if thy sainted soul can feel, And mingles in our misery; Then, then my breaking heart I'll seal-- Thou shalt not hear one sigh from me.

The beam of morn was on the stream, But sullen clouds the day deform; Like thee was that young, orient beam, Like death, alas, that sullen storm!

Thou wert not formed for living here, So linked thy soul was with the sky; Yet, ah, we held thee all so dear, We thought thou wert not formed to die.

INCONSTANCY.

And do I then wonder that Julia deceives me, When surely there's nothing in nature more common?

She vows to be true, and while vowing she leaves me-- And could I expect any more from a woman?

Oh, woman! your heart is a pitiful treasure; And Mahomet's doctrine was not too severe, When he held that you were but materials of pleasure, And reason and thinking were out of your sphere.

By your heart, when the fond sighing lover can win it, He thinks that an age of anxiety's paid; But, oh, while he's blest, let him die at the minute-- If he live but a _day_, he'll be surely betrayed.

THE NATAL GENIUS.

A DREAM

TO .... ....

THE MORNING OF HER BIRTHDAY.

In witching slumbers of the night, I dreamt I was the airy sprite That on thy natal moment smiled; And thought I wafted on my wing Those flowers which in Elysium spring, To crown my lovely mortal child.

With olive-branch I bound thy head, Heart's ease along thy path I shed, Which was to bloom through all thy years; Nor yet did I forget to bind Love's roses, with his myrtle twined, And dewed by sympathetic tears.

Such was the wild but precious boon Which Fancy, at her magic noon, Bade me to Nona's image pay; And were it thus my fate to be Thy little guardian deity, How blest around thy steps I'd play!

Thy life should glide in peace along, Calm as some lonely shepherd's song That's heard at distance in the grove; No cloud should ever dim thy sky, No thorns along thy pathway lie, But all be beauty, peace and love.

Indulgent Time should never bring To thee one blight upon his wing, So gently o'er thy brow he'd fly; And death itself should but be felt Like that of daybeams, when they melt, Bright to the last, in evening's sky!

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY JULIA,

ON THE DEATH OF HER BROTHER.

Though sorrow long has worn my heart; Though every day I've, counted o'er Hath brought a new and, quickening smart To wounds that rankled fresh before;

Though in my earliest life bereft Of tender links by nature tied; Though hope deceived, and pleasure left; Though friends betrayed and foes belied;

I still had hopes--for hope will stay After the sunset of delight; So like the star which ushers day, We scarce can think it heralds night!--

I hoped that, after all its strife, My weary heart at length should rest.

And, feinting from the waves of life, Find harbor in a brother's breast.

That brother's breast was warm with truth, Was bright with honor's purest ray; He was the dearest, gentlest youth-- Ah, why then was he torn away?

He should have stayed, have lingered here To soothe his Julia's every woe; He should have chased each bitter tear, And not have caused those tears to flow.

We saw within his soul expand The fruits of genius, nurst by taste; While Science, with a fostering hand, Upon his brow her chaplet placed.

We saw, by bright degrees, his mind Grow rich in all that makes men dear; Enlightened, social, and refined, In friendship firm, in love sincere.

Such was the youth we loved so well, And such the hopes that fate denied;-- We loved, but ah! could scarcely tell How deep, how dearly, till he died!

Close as the fondest links could strain, Twined with my very heart he grew; And by that fate which breaks the chain, The heart is almost broken too.