The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 91

HERE SLEEPS THE BARD.

(HIGHLAND AIR.)

Here sleeps the Bard who knew so well All the sweet windings of Apollo's sh.e.l.l; Whether its music rolled like torrents near.

Or died, like distant streamlets, on the ear.

Sleep, sleep, mute bard; alike unheeded now The storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless brow;-- That storm, whose rush is like thy martial lay; That breeze which, like thy love-song, dies away!

DO NOT SAY THAT LIFE IS WANING.

Do not say that life is waning, Or that hope's sweet day is set; While I've thee and love remaining, Life is in the horizon yet.

Do not think those charms are flying, Tho' thy roses fade and fall; Beauty hath a grace undying, Which in thee survives them all.

Not for charms, the newest, brightest, That on other cheeks may shine, Would I change the least, the slightest.

That is lingering now o'er thine.

THE GAZELLE.

Dost thou not hear the silver bell, Thro' yonder lime-trees ringing?

'Tis my lady's light gazelle; To me her love thoughts bringing,-- All the while that silver bell Around his dark neck ringing.

See, in his mouth he bears a wreath, My love hath kist in tying; Oh, what tender thoughts beneath Those silent flowers are lying,-- Hid within the mystic wreath, My love hath kist in trying!

Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, And joy to her, the fairest.

Who thus hath breathed her soul to me.

In every leaf thou bearest; Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, And joy to her the fairest!

Hail ye living, speaking flowers, That breathe of her who bound ye; Oh, 'twas not in fields, or bowers; 'Twas on her lips, she found ye;-- Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers, 'Twas on her lips she found ye.

NO--LEAVE MY HEART TO REST.

No--leave my heart to rest, if rest it may, When youth, and love, and hope, have past away.

Couldst thou, when summer hours are fled, To some poor leaf that's fallen and dead, Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed?

No--leave this heart to rest, if rest it may, When youth, and love, and hope, have past away.

Oh, had I met thee then, when life was bright, Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light; But now thou comest like sunny skies, Too late to cheer the seaman's eyes, When wrecked and lost his bark before him lies!

No--leave this heart to rest, if rest it may, Since youth, and love, and hope have past away.

WHERE ARE THE VISIONS.

"Where are the visions that round me once hovered, "Forms that shed grace from their shadows alone; "Looks fresh as light from a star just discovered, "And voices that Music might take for her own?"

Time, while I spoke, with his wings resting o'er me, Heard me say, "Where are those visions, oh where?"

And pointing his wand to the sunset before me, Said, with a voice like the hollow wind, "There."

Fondly I looked, when the wizard had spoken, And there, mid the dim-shining ruins of day, Saw, by their light, like a talisman broken, The last golden fragments of hope melt away.

WIND THY HORN, MY HUNTER BOY.

Wind thy horn, my hunter boy, And leave thy lute's inglorious sighs; Hunting is the hero's joy, Till war his n.o.bler game supplies.

Hark! the hound-bells ringing sweet, While hunters shout and the, woods repeat, Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho!

Wind again thy cheerful horn, Till echo, faint with answering, dies: Burn, bright torches, burn till morn, And lead us where the wild boar lies.

Hark! the cry, "He's found, he's found,"

While hill and valley our shouts resound.

Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho!

OH, GUARD OUR AFFECTION.