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The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 83

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THOSE EVENING BELLS.

(AIR.--THE BELLS OF ST. PETERSBURGH.)

Those evening bells! those evening bells!

How many a tale their music tells, Of youth and home and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime.

Those joyous hours are past away: And many a heart, that then was gay.

Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells.

And so 'twill be when I am gone: That tuneful peal will still ring on, While other bards shall walk these dells, And sing your praise, sweet evening bells!

SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES.

(PORTUGUESE AIR.)

Should those fond hopes e'er forsake thee, Which now so sweetly thy heart employ: Should the cold world come to wake thee From all thy visions of youth and joy; Should the gay friends, for whom thou wouldst banish Him who once thought thy young heart his own, All, like spring birds, falsely vanish, And leave thy winter unheeded and lone;--

Oh! 'tis then that he thou hast slighted Would come to cheer thee, when all seem'd o'er; Then the truant, lost and blighted, Would to his bosom be taken once more.

Like that dear bird we both can remember, Who left us while summer shone round, But, when chilled by bleak December, On our threshold a welcome still found.

REASON, FOLLY, AND BEAUTY.

(ITALIAN AIR.)

Reason and Folly and Beauty, they say, Went on a party of pleasure one day: Folly played Around the maid, The bells of his cap rung merrily out; While Reason took To his sermon-book-- Oh! which was the pleasanter no one need doubt, Which was the pleasanter no one need doubt.

Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage.

Turned for a moment to Reason's dull page, Till Folly said, "Look here, sweet maid!"-- The sight of his cap brought her back to herself; While Reason read His leaves of lead, With no one to mind him, poor sensible elf!

No,--no one to mind him, poor sensible elf!

Then Reason grew jealous of Folly's gay cap; Had he that on, he her heart might entrap-- "There it is,"

Quoth Folly, "old quiz!"

(Folly was always good-natured, 'tis said,) "Under the sun There's no such fun, As Reason with my cap and bells on his head!"

"Reason with my cap and bells on his head!"

But Reason the head-dress so awkwardly wore, That Beauty now liked him still less than before; While Folly took Old Reason's book, And twisted the leaves in a cap of such _ton_, That Beauty vowed (Tho' not aloud), She liked him still better in that than his own, Yes,--liked him still better in that than his own.

FARE THEE WELL, THOU LOVELY ONE!

(SICILIAN AIR.)

Fare thee well, thou lovely one!

Lovely still, but dear no more; Once his soul of truth is gone, Love's sweet life is o'er.

Thy words, what e'er their flattering spell, Could scarce have thus deceived; But eyes that acted truth so well Were sure to be believed.

Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one!

Lovely still, but dear no more; Once his soul of truth is gone, Love's sweet life is o'er.

Yet those eyes look constant still, True as stars they keep their light; Still those cheeks their pledge fulfil Of blushing always bright.

'Tis only on thy changeful heart The blame of falsehood lies; Love lives in every other part, But there, alas! he dies.

Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one!

Lovely still, but dear no more; Once his soul of truth is gone, Love's sweet life is o'er.

DOST THOU REMEMBER.

(PORTUGUESE AIR.)

Dost thou remember that place so lonely, A place for lovers and lovers only, Where first I told thee all my secret sighs?

When, as the moonbeam that trembled o'er thee Illumed thy blushes, I knelt before thee, And read my hope's sweet triumph in those eyes?

Then, then, while closely heart was drawn to heart, Love bound us--never, never more to part!

And when I called thee by names the dearest[1]

That love could fancy, the fondest, nearest,-- "My life, my only life!" among the rest; In those sweet accents that still enthral me, Thou saidst, "Ah!" wherefore thy life thus call me?

"Thy soul, thy soul's the name I love best; "For life soon pa.s.ses,--but how blest to be "That Soul which never, never parts from thee!"

[1] The thought in this verse is borrowed from the original Portuguese words.

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The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 83 summary

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