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The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself, in Five Volumes
Visualização completa - 1842
beam beautiful Bishops breath bright bring charm Church cold comes dark dead dear death deep doubt dream earth Erin ev'n eyes fair fall feel flowers friends give glory gone hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven hope hour Ireland Irish keep land late leave less Letter light lips live look Lord lost meet mind morning ne'er never night o'er once pain pass poor present rest rose round Saint shine short sigh sing sleep smile song soon sorrow soul sound spirit star sweet tears tell thee there's thine things thou thought true turn voice wave weep whole wings write young youth
Página 205 - Those joyous hours are passed 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 ! Moore.
Página 84 - OH ! the days are gone, when Beauty bright My heart's chain wove ; When my dream of life from morn till night Was love, still love. New hope may bloom, And days may come Of milder, calmer beam, But there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream : No, there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream.
Página 271 - But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way. So grant me, GOD, from every care And stain of passion free, Aloft, through Virtue's purer air, To hold my course to Thee ! No sin to cloud, no lure to stay My Soul, as home she springs ; — Thy Sunshine on her joyful way, Thy Freedom in her wings ! FALLEN IS THY THRONE.
Página 49 - OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. r\n I breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid ; Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, As the night-dew that falls on the grass 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.
Página 56 - One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes. To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring, For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting...
Página 105 - I'll not leave thee, thou lone one ! To pine on the stem ; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them ; Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from love's shining circle The gems drop away ! When true hearts lie wither'd, And fond ones are flown, Oh ! who would inhabit This bleak world alone ? The young May moon, •
Página 269 - THOU art, O God ! the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see ; Its glow by day, its smile by night, Are but reflections caught from thee. Where'er we turn thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine.
Página 56 - THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet, As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ; Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.
Página 50 - THE harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, As if that soul were fled. — So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts, that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more.
Página 275 - DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR. (AiR. — HAYDN.) •' He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds." — Psalm cxlvii. 3. OH Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear. How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here, We could not fly to Thee. The friends who in our sunshine live, When winter comes, are flown ; And he who has but tears to give, Must weep those tears alone.