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THOMAS MOORE

1779-1852

592                                        The Young May Moon

THE young May moon is beaming, love,
The glow-worms lamp is gleaming, love;
            How sweet to rove
            Through Mornas grove,
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake!the heavens look bright, my dear,
Tis never too late for delight, my dear;
            And the best of all ways
            To lengthen our days
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!
Now all the world is sleeping, love,
But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love,
            And I, whose star
            More glorious far
Is the eye from that casement peeping, love.
Then awake!till rise of sun, my dear,
The Sages glass well shun, my dear,
            Or in watching the flight
            Of bodies of light
He might happen to take thee for one, my dear!

593                                       The Light of Other Days

OFT, in the stilly night,
  Ere slumbers chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
  Of other days around me:
     The smiles, the tears
     Of boyhoods years,
  The words of love then spoken;
     The eyes that shone,
     Now dimmd and gone,
  The cheerful hearts now broken!
Thus, in the stilly night,
  Ere slumbers chain has bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light
  Of other days around me.
When I remember all
  The friends, so linkd together,
Ive 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!
Thus, in the stilly night,
  Ere slumbers chain has bound me.
Sad Memory brings the light
  Of other days around me.

594                                      At the Mid Hour of Night

AT the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly
To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in
     thine eye;
   And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air
   To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there,
And tell me our love is rememberd even in the sky.

Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear,
When our voices commingling breathed like one on the ear;
   And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls,
   I think, O my love! tis thy voice from the Kingdom of
       Souls
Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.

 

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