The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore, Volume 7

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Longman, Orme, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1841
 

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Página 1 - ALAS ! how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love ! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied ; That stood the storm when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea, When heaven was all tranquillity...
Página 29 - One hour of a passion so sacred is worth Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss ; And, oh ! if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this.
Página 57 - Oh ! it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow, And spirits so mean in the great and high-born ; To think what a long line of titles may follow The relics of him who died — friendless and lorn ! How proud they can press to the funeral array Of one whom they shunned in his sickness and sorrow : — How bailiffs may seize his last blanket to-day, Whose pall shall be held up by nobles to-morrow...
Página 345 - — what a different sound That word had in my youthful ears ! And how, each time the day comes round, Less and less white its mark appears ! When first our scanty years are told, It seems like pastime to grow old ; And, as Youth counts the shining links, That Time around him binds so fast, Pleased with the task, he little thinks How hard that chain will press at last. Vain was the man, and false as vain, Who said * — " were he ordain'd to run " His long career of life again, " He would do all...
Página xx - But, never yet, by night or day, In dew of spring or summer's ray, Did the sweet Valley shine so gay As now it shines — all love and light, Visions by day and feasts by night ! A happier smile illumes each brow, With quicker spread each heart uncloses, And all is ecstasy, — for now The Valley holds its Feast of Roses.
Página xviii - Its temples, and grottos, and fountains as clear As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave? Oh! to see it at sunset, — when warm o'er the Lake Its splendour at parting a summer eve throws, Like a bride, full of blushes, when ling'ring to take A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes...
Página 8 - The tube-rose, with her silvery light, That in the gardens of Malay Is call'd the Mistress of the Night, So like a bride, scented and bright, She comes out when the sun's away.
Página 370 - AY — down to the dust with them, slaves as they are, From this hour, let the blood in their dastardly veins, That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war, Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains.
Página 17 - Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice Morn on the Indian steep, From her cabined loop-hole peep, 140 And to the tell-tale Sun descry Our concealed solemnity.
Página xix - Or to see it by moonlight, — when mellowly shines The light o'er its palaces, gardens, and shrines ; When the water-falls gleam, like a quick fall of stars, And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of Chenars Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet...

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