Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine, We'll wear the gay tinge of Youth's roses again. What soften'd remembrances come o'er the heart, In gazing on those we've been lost to so long! The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part, Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng; As letters some hand hath invisibly traced, When held to the flame will steal out on the sight, So many a feeling, that long seem'd effaced, The warmth of a moment like this brings to light And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide, To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew, Though oft we may see, looking down on the tide, The wreck of full many a hope shining through; Like her delusive beam, Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade- Thomas Moore.-Born 1780, Died 1852. 1283.-GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE! Go where glory waits thee; O then remember me! Sweeter far may be; But when friends are nearest, When, at eve, thou rovest O then remember me! O, thus remember me! Oft as summer closes, When thine eye reposes On its lingering roses, Once so loved by thee, Think of her who wove them, Her who made thee love them; O then remember me! When, around thee dying, O then remember me! O, still remember me ! Draw one tear from thee- Thomas Moore.—Born 1780, Died 1852. 1284.-FLY TO THE DESERT. Fly to the desert, fly with me- Our rocks are rough; but smiling there Our sands are bare; but down their slope As gracefully and gaily springs As o'er the marble courts of kings. Then come-thy Arab maid will be O! there are looks and tones that dart As if the very lips and eyes So came thy every glance and tone, Then fly with me,-if thou hast known Come, if the love thou hast for me, But if for me thou dost forsake Thomas Moore.-Born 1780, Died 1852. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts that once beat high for praise, No more to chiefs and ladies bright Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, Is when some heart indignant breaks Thomas Moore.-Born 1780, Died 1852. 1286.-SONG. As by the shore, at break of day, Thomas Moore.-Born 1780, Died 1852. 1287.-0! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. O! breathe not his name! let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonor'd his relics are laid; Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed, As the night dew that falls on the grave o'er his head. But the night dew that falls, though in silence it weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps; And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls. Thomas Moore.-Born 1780, Died 1852. 1285. -THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS. The harp that once through Tara's halls Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, 1288.-THOSE EVENING BELLS. Those evening bells! those evening bells! Those joyous hours are passed away; For the Lord hath look'd out from his pillar of glory, And all her brave thousands are dash'd in the tide. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah has triumph'd, his people are free. Thomas Moore.-Born 1780, Died 1852. 1289.-ARRANMORE. O! Arranmore, loved Arranmore, And of those days when by thy shore Full many a path I've tried since then, How blithe upon the breezy cliffs With heart as bounding as the skiffs That danced along the flood! Or when the western wave grew bright Have sought that Eden in its light That Eden where th' immortal brave Whose bowers beyond the shining wave, Ah, dream, too full of saddening truth! Thomas Moore.-Born 1780, Died 1852. 1290.-MIRIAM'S SONG. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah has triumph'd-his people are free. Sing-for the pride of the tyrant is broken, His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave, How vain was their boasting!-the Lord hath but spoken, And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah has triumph'd-his people are free. Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord, His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword! Who shall return to tell Egypt the story Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride? 1291.-ECHOES. How sweet the answer Echo makes When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, Goes answering light! Yet Love hath echoes truer far And far more sweet Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star, "Tis when the sigh,-in youth sincere The sigh that's breathed for one to hear- Thomas Moore.-Born 1780, Died 1852. 1292.-THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS. Oft in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Ere slumber's chain has bound me, When I remember all The friends so link'd together Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Thomas Moore.-Born 1780, Died 1852. 1 1293.-THE JOURNEY ONWARDS. As slow our ship her foamy track From all the links that bind us; When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years And when in other climes we meet Some isle or vale enchanting, As travellers oft look back at eve Still faint behind them glowing,- Thomas Moore.-Born 1780, Died 1852. Come now, fling up the cinders, fetch the coals, And take away the things you hung to air; Set out the tea-things, and bid Phoebe bring The kettle up. Arms and the Monks I sing. J. H. Frere.-Born 1769, Died 1846. 1295.-THE GIANTS AND THE ABBEY. Oft that wild untutor'd race would draw, Led by the solemn sound and sacred light, Beyond the bank, beneath a lonely shaw, To listen all the livelong summer night, Till deep, serene, and reverential awe Environ'd them with silent calm delight, Contemplating the minster's midnight gleam, Reflected from the clear and glassy stream. But chiefly, when the shadowy moon had shed O'er woods and waters her mysterious hue, Their passive hearts and vacant fancies fed With thoughts and aspirations strange and 1294.-MR. MURRAY'S PROPOSAL. I've a proposal here from Mr. Murray. new And I'd be sure to keep away from drink, 1296.-WAR SONG ON THE VICTORY OF BRUNNENBURG. The gates were then thrown open, back to the camp were push'd; The camp was all in tumult, and there was such a thunder Of cymbals and of drums, as if earth would cleave in sunder. There you might see the Moors arming themselves in haste, And the two main battles how they were forming fast; Horsemen and footmen mixt, a countless troop and vast. The Moors are moving forward, the battle soon must join, "My men stand here in order, ranged upon a line! Let not a man move from his rank before I give the sign." Pero Bermuez heard the word, but he could not refrain, He held the banner in his hand, he gave his horse the rein; "You see yon foremost squadron there, the thickest of the foes, Noble Cid, God be your aid, for there your banner goes! Let him that serves and honours it, show the duty that he owes." Earnestly the Cid call'd out, "For heaven's sake be still!" Bermuez cried, "I cannot hold," so eager was his will. He spurr'd his horse, and drove him on amid the Moorish rout: They strove to win the banner, and compass'd him about. Had not his armour been so true, he had lost either life or limb; The Cid call'd out again, "For heaven's sake succour him!" Their shields before their breasts, forth at once they go, Their lances in the rest levell'd fair and low; Their banners and their crests waving in a row, Their heads all stooping down towards the saddle bow. The Cid was in the midst, his shout was heard afar, "I am Rui Diaz, the champion of Bivar; Strike amongst them, gentlemen, for sweet mercies' sake!" There where Bermuez fought amidst the foe they brake; Three hundred banner'd knights, it was a gallant show; Three hundred Moors they kill'd, a man at every blow: When they wheel'd and turn'd, as many more lay slain, You might see them raise their lances, and level them again. There you might see the breastplates, how they were cleft in twain, And many a Moorish shield lie scatter'd on the plain. The pennons that were white mark'd with a crimson stain, The horses running wild whose riders had been slain. J. H. Frere.-Born 1769, Died 1846. 1297.-HOPE TRIUMPHANT IN DEATH. Unfading Hope! when life's last embers burn, When soul to soul, and dust to dust return; |