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Read Ebook: The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Collected by Himself with Explanatory Notes by Moore Thomas Rossetti William Michael Commentator
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Ebook has 203 lines and 240628 words, and 5 pages
Yet, even here, tho' Fiction rules the hour, There shine some genuine smiles, beyond her power; And there are tears, too--tears that Memory sheds Even o'er the feast that mimic fancy spreads, When her heart misses one lamented guest, Whose eye so long threw light o'er all the rest! There, there, indeed, the Muse forgets her task, And drooping weeps behind Thalia's mask.
Forgive this gloom--forgive this joyless strain, Too sad to welcome pleasure's smiling train. But, meeting thus, our hearts will part the lighter, As mist at dawn but makes the setting brighter; Gay Epilogue will shine where Prologue fails-- As glow-worms keep their splendor for their tails.
I know not why--but time, methinks, hath past More fleet than usual since we parted last. It seems but like a dream of yesternight. Whose charm still hangs, with fond, delaying light; And, ere the memory lose one glowing hue Of former joy, we come to kindle new. Thus ever may the flying moments haste With trackless foot along life's vulgar waste, But deeply print and lingeringly move, When thus they reach the sunny spots we love. Oh yes, whatever be our gay career, Let this be still the solstice of the year, Where Pleasure's sun shall at its height remain, And slowly sink to level life again.
The late Mr. John Lyster, one of the oldest members and best actors of the Kilkenny Theatrical Society.
THE SYLPH'S BALL.
The annals of the oldest witch A pair so sorted could not show, But how refuse?--the Gnome was rich, The Rothschild of the world below;
And Sylphs, like other pretty creatures, Are told, betimes, they must consider Love as an auctioneer of features, Who knocks them down to the best bidder.
Home she was taken to his Mine-- A Palace paved with diamonds all-- And, proud as Lady Gnome to shine, Sent out her tickets for a ball.
As none yet knew the wondrous Lamp Of DAVY, that renowned Aladdin, And the Gnome's Halls exhaled a damp Which accidents from fire were had in;
Bologna stones that drink the sun; And water from that Indian sea, Whose waves at night like wildfire run-- Corked up in crystal carefully.
Glow-worms that round the tiny dishes Like little light-houses, were set up; And pretty phosphorescent fishes That by their own gay light were eat up.
'Mong the few guests from Ether came That wicked Sylph whom Love we call-- My Lady knew him but by name, My Lord, her husband, not at all.
Some prudent Gnomes, 'tis said, apprised That he was coming, and, no doubt Alarmed about his torch, advised He should by all means be kept out.
But others disapproved this plan, And by his flame tho' somewhat frighted, Thought Love too much a gentleman In such a dangerous place to light it.
And so it chanced--which, in those dark And fireless halls was quite amazing; Did we not know how small a spark Can set the torch of Love a-blazing.
Oh for that Lamp's metallic gauze, That curtain of protecting wire, Which DAVY delicately draws Around illicit, dangerous fire!--
The wall he sets 'twixt Flame and Air, Thro' whose small holes this dangerous pair May see each other but not kiss.
At first the torch looked rather bluely,-- A sign, they say, that no good boded-- Then quick the gas became unruly. And, crack! the ball-room all exploded.
Sylphs, gnomes, and fiddlers mixt together, With all their aunts, sons, cousins, nieces, Like butterflies in stormy weather, Were blown--legs, wings, and tails--to pieces!
While, mid these victims of the torch, The Sylph, alas, too, bore her part-- Found lying with a livid scorch As if from lightning o'er her heart!
REMONSTRANCE.
Whose nobility comes to thee, stampt with a seal, Far, far more ennobling than monarch e'er set; With the blood of thy race, offered up for the weal Of a nation that swears by that martyrdom yet!
Oh no, never dream it--while good men despair Between tyrants and traitors, and timid men bow, Never think for an instant thy country can spare Such a light from her darkening horizon as thou.
With a spirit, as meek as the gentlest of those Who in life's sunny valley lie sheltered and warm; Yet bold and heroic as ever yet rose To the top cliffs of Fortune and breasted her storm;
With an ardor for liberty fresh as in youth It first kindles the bard and gives life to his lyre; Yet mellowed, even now, by that mildness of truth Which tempers but chills not the patriot fire;
With an eloquence--not like those rills from a height, Which sparkle and foam and in vapor are o'er; But a current that works out its way into light Thro' the filtering recesses of thought and of lore.
Thus gifted, thou never canst sleep in the shade; If the stirrings of Genius, the music of fame, And the charms of thy cause have not power to persuade, Yet think how to Freedom thou'rt pledged by thy Name.
MY BIRTH-DAY.
"My birth-day"--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!
FANCY.
The more I've viewed this world, the more I've found, That filled as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare, Fancy commands within her own bright round A world of scenes and creatures far more fair. Nor is it that her power can call up there A single charm, that's not from Nature won,-- No more than rainbows in their pride can wear A single tint unborrowed from the sun; But 'tis the mental medium; it shines thro', That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue; As the same light that o'er the level lake One dull monotony of lustre flings, Will, entering in the rounded raindrop, make Colors as gay as those on angels' wings!
SONG.
FANNY, DEAREST.
Yes! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, Fanny dearest, for thee I'd sigh; And every smile on my cheek should turn To tears when thou art nigh. But between love and wine and sleep, So busy a life I live, That even the time it would take to weep Is more than my heart can give. Then wish me not to despair and pine, Fanny, dearest of all the dears! The Love that's ordered to bathe in wine, Would be sure to take cold in tears.
Reflected bright in this heart of mine, Fanny dearest, thy image lies; But ah! the mirror would cease to shine, If dimmed too often with sighs. They lose the half of beauty's light, Who view it thro' sorrow's tear; And 'tis but to see thee truly bright That I keep my eye-beams clear. Then wait no longer till tears shall flow--
Fanny, dearest! the hope is vain; If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, I shall never attempt it with rain.
TRANSLATIONS FROM CATULLUS.
CARM. 70.
TO LESBIA.
Thou told'st me, in our days of love, That I had all that heart of thine; That, even to share the couch of Jove, Thou wouldst not, Lesbia, part from mine.
How purely wert thou worshipt then! Not with the vague and vulgar fires Which Beauty wakes in soulless men,-- But loved, as children by their sires.
That flattering dream, alas, is o'er;-- I know thee now--and tho' these eyes Doat on thee wildly as before, Yet, even in doating, I despise.
Yes, sorceress--mad as it may seem-- With all thy craft, such spells adorn thee, That passion even outlives esteem. And I at once adore--and scorn thee.
Comrades and friends! with whom, where'er The fates have willed thro' life I've roved, Now speed ye home, and with you bear These bitter words to her I've loved.
Tell her from fool to fool to run, Where'er her vain caprice may call; Of all her dupes not loving one, But ruining and maddening all.
Bid her forget--what now is past-- Our once dear love, whose rain lies Like a fair flower, the meadow's last. Which feels the ploughshare's edge and dies!
CARM. 29.
Sweet Sirmio! thou, the very eye Of all peninsulas and isles, That in our lakes of silver lie, Or sleep enwreathed by Neptune's smiles--
Oh! what is happier than to find Our hearts at ease, our perils past; When, anxious long, the lightened mind Lays down its load of care at last:
When tired with toil o'er land and deep, Again we tread the welcome floor Of our own home, and sink to sleep On the long-wished-for bed once more.
This, this it is that pays alone The ills of all life's former track.-- Shine out, my beautiful, my own Sweet Sirmio, greet thy master back.
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