The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 31

But then came the light harp, when danger was ended, And Beauty once more lulled the War-G.o.d to rest; When tresses of gold with his laurels lay blended, And flights of young doves made his helmet their nest.

FROM THE GREEK OF MELEAGER.

Fill high the cup with liquid flame, And speak my Heliodora's name.

Repeat its magic o'er and o'er, And let the sound my lips adore, Live in the breeze, till every tone, And word, and breath, speaks her alone.

Give me the wreath that withers there, It was but last delicious night, It circled her luxuriant hair, And caught her eyes' reflected light.

Oh! haste, and twine it round my brow, 'Tis all of her that's left me now.

And see--each rosebud drops a tear, To find the nymph no longer here-- No longer, where such heavenly charms As hers _should_ be--within these arms.

SONG.

Fly from the world, O Bessy! to me, Thou wilt never find any sincerer; I'll give up the world, O Bessy! for thee, I can never meet any that's dearer.

Then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh, That our loves will be censured by many; All, all have their follies, and who will deny That ours is the sweetest of any?

When your lip has met mine, in communion so sweet, Have we felt as if virtue forbid it?-- Have we felt as if heaven denied them to meet?-- No, rather 'twas heaven that did it.

So innocent, love, is the joy we then sip, So little of wrong is there in it, That I wish all my errors were lodged on your lip, And I'd kiss them away in a minute.

Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed, From a world which I know thou despisest; And slumber will hover as light o'er our bed!

As e'er on the couch of the wisest.

And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven, And thou, pretty innocent, fearest, I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of heaven, 'Tis only our lullaby, dearest.

And, oh! while, we lie on our deathbed, my love, Looking back on the scene of our errors, A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above, And Death be disarmed of his terrors, And each to the other embracing will say, "Farewell! let us hope we're forgiven."

Thy last fading glance will illumine the way, And a kiss be our pa.s.sport to heaven!

THE RESEMBLANCE.

_---- vo cercand' io, Donna quant' e possibile in altrui La desiata vostra forma vera_.

PETRARC, _Sonett_. 14.

Yes, if 'twere any common love, That led my pliant heart astray, I grant, there's not a power above Could wipe the faithless crime away.

But 'twas my doom to err with one In every look so like to thee That, underneath yon blessed sun So fair there are but thou and she

Both born of beauty, at a birth, She held with thine a kindred sway, And wore the only shape on earth That could have lured my soul to stray.

Then blame me not, if false I be, 'Twas love that waked the fond excess; My heart had been more true to thee, Had mine eye prized thy beauty less.

f.a.n.n.y, DEAREST.

Yes! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, f.a.n.n.y, dearest, for thee I'd sigh; And every smile on my cheek should turn To tears when thou art nigh.

But, between love, and wine, and sleep, So busy a life I live, That even the time it would take to weep Is more than my heart can give.

Then bid me not to despair and pine, f.a.n.n.y, dearest of all the dears!

The Love that's ordered to bathe in wine, Would be sure to take cold in tears.

Reflected bright in this heart of mine, f.a.n.n.y, dearest, thy image lies; But, ah, the mirror would cease to shine, If dimmed too often with sighs.

They lose the half of beauty's light, Who view it through sorrow's tear; And 'tis but to see thee truly bright That I keep my eye-beam clear.

Then wait no longer till tears shall flow, f.a.n.n.y, dearest--the hope is vain; If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, I shall never attempt it with rain.

THE RING.

TO .... ....

No--Lady! Lady! keep the ring: Oh! think, how many a future year, Of placid smile and downy wing, May sleep within its holy sphere.

Do not disturb their tranquil dream, Though love hath ne'er the mystery warmed; Yet heaven will shed a soothing beam, To bless the bond itself hath formed.

But then, that eye, that burning eye,-- Oh! it doth ask, with witching power, If heaven can ever bless the tie Where love inwreaths no genial flower?

Away, away, bewildering look, Or all the boast of virtue's o'er; Go--hie thee to the sage's book, And learn from him to feel no more.

I cannot warn thee: every touch, That brings my pulses close to thine, Tells me I want thy aid as much-- Even more, alas, than thou dost mine.

Yet, stay,--one hope, one effort yet-- A moment turn those eyes a way, And let me, if I can, forget The light that leads my soul astray.

Thou sayest, that we were born to meet, That our hearts bear one common seal;-- Think, Lady, think, how man's deceit Can seem to sigh and feign to feel.

When, o'er thy face some gleam of thought, Like daybeams through the morning air, Hath gradual stole, and I have caught The feeling ere it kindled there;