The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore - LightNovelsOnl.com
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THE MEETING OF THE s.h.i.+PS.
When o'er the silent seas alone, For days and nights we've cheerless gone, Oh they who've felt it know how sweet, Some sunny morn a sail to meet.
Sparkling at once is every eye, "s.h.i.+p ahoy!" our joyful cry; While answering back the sounds we hear, "s.h.i.+p ahoy!" what cheer? what...cheer?
Then sails are backed, we nearer come, Kind words are said of friends and home; And soon, too soon, we part with pain, To sail o'er silent seas again.
HIP, HIP, HURRA!
Come, fill round a b.u.mper, fill up to the brim, He who shrinks from a b.u.mper I pledge not to him; Here's the girl that each loves, be her eye of what hue, Or l.u.s.tre, it may, so her heart is but true.
Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!
Come charge high, again, boy, nor let the full wine Leave a s.p.a.ce in the brimmer, where daylight may s.h.i.+ne; Here's "the friends of our youth--tho' of some we're bereft, May the links that are lost but endear what are left!"
Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!
Once more fill a b.u.mper--ne'er talk of the hour; On hearts thus united old Time has no power.
May our lives, tho', alas! like the wine of to-night, They must soon have an end, to the last flow as bright.
Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!
Quick, quick, now, I'll give you, since Time's gla.s.s will run Even faster than ours doth, three b.u.mpers in one; Here's the poet who sings--here's the warrior who fights-- Here's the, statesman who speaks, in the cause of men's rights!
Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!
Come, once more, a b.u.mper!--then drink as you please, Tho', _who_ could fill half-way to toast such as these?
Here's our next joyous meeting--and oh when we meet, May our wine be as bright and our union as sweet!
Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra!
HUSH, HUs.h.!.+
"Hush, hus.h.!.+"--how well That sweet word sounds, When Love, the little sentinel, Walks his night-rounds; Then, if a foot but dare One rose-leaf crush, Myriads of voices in the air Whisper, "Hush, hus.h.!.+"
"Hark, hark, 'tis he!"
The night elves cry, And hush their fairy harmony, While he steals by; But if his silvery feet One dew-drop brush, Voices are heard in chorus sweet, Whispering, "Hush, hus.h.!.+"
THE PARTING BEFORE THE BATTLE.
HE.
On to the field, our doom is sealed, To conquer or be slaves: This sun shall see our nation free, Or set upon our graves.
SHE.
Farewell, oh farewell, my love, May heaven thy guardian be, And send bright angels from above To bring thee back to me.
HE.
On to the field, the battle-field, Where freedom's standard waves, This sun shall see our tyrant yield, Or s.h.i.+ne upon our graves.
THE WATCHMAN.
A TRIO.
WATCHMAN.
Past twelve o'clock--past twelve.
Good night, good night, my dearest-- How fast the moments fly!
'Tis time to part, thou hearest That hateful watchman's cry.
WATCHMAN.
Past one o'clock--past one.
Yet stay a moment longer-- Alas! why is it so, The wish to stay grows stronger, The more 'tis time to go?
WATCHMAN.
Past two o'clock--past two.
