The poetical works of Thomas Moore, with notes &c

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J. Wurtele Lovell, 1881 - 670 pages
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Page 434 - 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...
Page 489 - Oft, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me : The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken ; The eyes that shone, Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken ! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me. Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me.
Page 198 - 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.
Page 487 - 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.
Page 210 - Music, oh how faint, how weak, Language fades before thy spell ! Why should Feeling ever speak, When thou canst breathe her soul so well ? Friendship's balmy words may feign, Love's are ev'n more false than they ; Oh ! 'tis only music's strain Can sweetly soothe, and not betray.
Page 215 - 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 215 - 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 179 - FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Page 231 - DEAR Harp of my Country! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long,' When proudly, my own Island Harp, I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song...
Page 393 - Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace.

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