The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 69

YOU REMEMBER ELLEN.

You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride, How meekly she blest her humble lot, When the stranger, William, had made her his bride, And love was the light of their lowly cot.

Together they toiled through winds and rains, Till William, at length, in sadness said, "We must seek our fortune on other plains;"-- Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed.

They roamed a long and a weary way, Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease, When now, at close of one stormy day, They see a proud castle among the trees.

"To-night," said the youth, "we'll shelter there; "The wind blows cold, the hour is late:"

So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air, And the Porter bowed, as they past the gate.

"Now, welcome, Lady," exclaimed the youth,-- "This castle is thine, and these dark woods all!"

She believed him crazed, but his words were truth, For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall!

And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves What William the stranger wooed and wed; And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves, s.h.i.+nes pure as it did in the lowly shed.

I'D MOURN THE HOPES.

I'd mourn the hopes that leave me, If thy smiles had left me too; I'd weep when friends deceive me, If thou wert, like them, untrue.

But while I've thee before me, With heart so warm and eyes so bright, No clouds can linger o'er me, That smile turns them all to light.

'Tis not in fate to harm me, While fate leaves thy love to me; 'Tis not in joy to charm me, Unless joy be shared with thee.

One minute's dream about thee Were worth a long, an endless year Of waking bliss without thee, My own love, my only dear!

And tho' the hope be gone, love, That long sparkled o'er our way, Oh! we shall journey on, love, More safely, without its ray.

Far better lights shall win me Along the path I've yet to roam:-- The mind that burns within me, And pure smiles from thee at home.

Thus, when the lamp that lighted The traveller at first goes out, He feels awhile benighted.

And looks round in fear and doubt.

But soon, the prospect clearing, By cloudless starlight on he treads, And thinks no lamp so cheering As that light which Heaven sheds.

COME O'ER THE SEA.

Come o'er the sea, Maiden, with me, Mine thro' suns.h.i.+ne, storm, and snows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes.

Let fate frown on, so we love and part not; 'Tis life where _thou_ art, 'tis death where thou art not.

Then come o'er the sea, Maiden, with me, Come wherever the wild wind blows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes.

Was not the sea Made for the Free, Land for courts and chains alone?

Here we are slaves, But, on the waves, Love and Liberty's all our own.

No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, All earth forgot, and all heaven around us-- Then come o'er the sea, Maiden, with me, Mine thro' suns.h.i.+ne, storm, and snows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes.

HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED.

Has sorrow thy young days shaded, As clouds o'er the morning fleet?

Too fast have those young days faded, That, even in sorrow, were sweet?

Does Time with his cold wing wither Each feeling that once was dear?-- Then, child of misfortune, come hither, I'll weep with thee, tear for tear.

Has love to that soul, so tender, Been like our Lagenian mine,[1]

Where sparkles of golden splendor All over the surface s.h.i.+ne-- But, if in pursuit we go deeper, Allured by the gleam that shone, Ah! false as the dream of the sleeper, Like Love, the bright ore is gone.

Has Hope, like the bird in the story,[2]

That flitted from tree to tree With the talisman's glittering glory-- Has Hope been that bird to thee?

On branch after branch alighting, The gem did she still display, And, when nearest and most inviting.

Then waft the fair gem away?

If thus the young hours have fleeted, When sorrow itself looked bright; If thus the fair hope hath cheated, That led thee along so light; If thus the cold world now wither Each feeling that once was dear:-- Come, child of misfortune, come hither, I'll weep with thee, tear for tear.

[1] Our Wicklow Gold Mines, to which this verse alludes, deserve, I fear, but too well the character here given of them.

[2] "The bird, having got its prize, settled not far off, with the talisman in his mouth. The prince drew near it, hoping it would drop it: but as he approached, the bird took wing, and settled again,"

etc.--"_Arabian Nights_."

NO, NOT MORE WELCOME.

No, not more welcome the fairy numbers Of music fall on the sleeper's ear, When half-awaking from fearful slumbers, He thinks the full choir of heaven is near,-- Than came that voice, when, all forsaken.

This heart long had sleeping lain, Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken To such benign, blessed sounds again.

Sweet voice of comfort! 'twas like the stealing Of summer wind thro' some wreathed sh.e.l.l-- Each secret winding, each inmost feeling Of my soul echoed to its spell.

'Twas whispered balm--'twas suns.h.i.+ne spoken!-- I'd live years of grief and pain To have my long sleep of sorrow broken By such benign, blessed sounds again.