The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 122

DEAR? YES.

Dear? yes, tho' mine no more, Even this but makes thee dearer; And love, since hope is o'er, But draws thee nearer.

Change as thou wilt to me, The same thy charm must be; New loves may come to weave Their witchery o'er thee, Yet still, tho' false, believe That I adore thee, yes, still adore thee.

Think'st thou that aught but death could end A tie not falsehood's self can rend?

No, when alone, far off I die, No more to see, no more cares thee, Even then, my life's last sigh Shall be to bless thee, yes, still to bless thee.

UNBIND THEE, LOVE.

Unbind thee, love, unbind thee, love, From those dark ties unbind thee; Tho' fairest hand the chain hath wove, Too long its links have twined thee.

Away from earth!--thy wings were made In yon mid-sky to hover, With earth beneath their dove-like shade, And heaven all radiant over.

Awake thee, boy, awake thee, boy, Too long thy soul is sleeping; And thou mayst from this minute's joy Wake to eternal weeping.

Oh, think, this world is not for thee; Tho' hard its links to sever; Tho' sweet and bright and dear they be, Break or thou'rt lost for ever.

THERE'S SOMETHING STRANGE.

A BUFFALO SONG.

There's something strange, I know not what, Come o'er me, Some phantom I've for ever got Before me.

I look on high and in the sky 'Tis s.h.i.+ning; On earth, its light with all things bright Seems twining.

In vain I try this goblin's spells To sever; Go where I will, it round me dwells For ever.

And then what tricks by day and night It plays me; In every shape the wicked sprite Waylays me.

Sometimes like two bright eyes of blue 'Tis glancing; Sometimes like feet, in slippers neat, Comes dancing.

By whispers round of every sort I'm taunted.

Never was mortal man, in short, So haunted.

NOT FROM THEE.

Not from thee the wound should come, No, not from thee.

Care not what or whence my doom, So not from thee!

Cold triumph! first to make This heart thy own; And then the mirror break Where fixt thou s.h.i.+n'st alone.

Not from thee the wound should come, Oh, not from thee.

I care not what, or whence, my doom, So not from thee.

Yet no--my lips that wish recall; From thee, from thee-- If ruin o'er this head must fall, 'Twill welcome be.

Here to the blade I bare This faithful heart; Wound deep--thou'lt find that there, In every pulse thou art.

Yes from thee I'll bear it all: If ruin be The doom that o'er this heart must fall, 'Twere sweet from thee.

GUESS, GUESS.

I love a maid, a mystic maid, Whose form no eyes but mine can see; She comes in light, she comes in shade, And beautiful in both is she.

Her shape in dreams I oft behold, And oft she whispers in my ear Such words as when to others told, Awake the sigh, or wring the tear; Then guess, guess, who she, The lady of my love, may be.

I find the l.u.s.tre of her brow, Come o'er me in my darkest ways; And feel as if her voice, even now, Were echoing far off my lays.

There is no scene of joy or woe But she doth gild with influence bright; And shed o'er all so rich a glow As makes even tears seem full of light: Then guess, guess, who she, The lady of my love, may be.

WHEN LOVE, WHO RULED.

When Love, who ruled as Admiral o'er Has rosy mother's isles of light, Was cruising off the Paphian sh.o.r.e, A sail at sunset hove in sight.

"A chase, a chase! my Cupids all,"

Said Love, the little Admiral.

Aloft the winged sailors sprung, And, swarming up the mast like bees, The snow-white sails expanding flung, Like broad magnolias to the breeze.

"Yo ho, yo ho, my Cupids all!"

Said Love, the little Admiral.

The chase was o'er--the bark was caught, The winged crew her freight explored; And found 'twas just as Love had thought, For all was contraband aboard.

"A prize, a prize, my Cupids all!"

Said Love, the little Admiral.

Safe stowed in many a package there, And labelled slyly o'er, as "Gla.s.s,"

Were lots of all the illegal ware, Love's Custom-House forbids to pa.s.s.

"O'erhaul, o'erhaul, my Cupids all,"

Said Love, the little Admiral.

False curls they found, of every hue, With rosy blushes ready made; And teeth of ivory, good as new, For veterans in the smiling trade.