The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore, Including Melodies, Ballads, Etc (Google eBook)

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J. Crissy, 1835 - 419 pages
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Page 321 - BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away, Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still.
Page 330 - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps And lovers around her are sighing : But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying.
Page 352 - When I remember all The friends so linked together, I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather; I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed...
Page 362 - SOUND the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! Jehovah has triurnph'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.
Page 333 - Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone ; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone ; No flower of her kindred, No rose-bud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh. 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...
Page 362 - And Miriam, the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand ; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances. And Miriam answered them, Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously : the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.
Page 330 - Every note which he loved awaking Ah ! little they think, who delight in her strains, How the heart of the minstrel is breaking ! He had lived for his love for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him...
Page 361 - When hastening fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam. But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way.
Page 338 - Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning The close of our day, the calm eve of our night ; Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of Morning, Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best light Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning.
Page 334 - Like the vase, in which roses have once been distilled You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will. But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.

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