: The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Collected by Himself with Explanatory Notes by Moore Thomas Rossetti William Michael Commentator - Poetry

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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.

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