The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 72

When we see the first glory of youth pa.s.s us by, Like a leaf on the stream that will never return; When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so high, First tastes of the _other_, the dark-flowing urn; Then, then is the time when affection holds sway With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew; Love, nursed among pleasures, is faithless as they, But the love born of Sorrow, like Sorrow, is true.

In climes full of suns.h.i.+ne, tho' splendid the flowers, Their sighs have no freshness, their odor no worth; 'Tis the cloud and the mist of our own Isle of showers, That call the rich spirit of fragrancy forth.

So it is not mid splendor, prosperity, mirth, That the depth of Love's generous spirit appears; To the suns.h.i.+ne of smiles it may first owe its birth, But the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears.

AS SLOW OUR s.h.i.+P.

As slow our s.h.i.+p her foamy track Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still looked back To that dear isle 'twas leaving.

So loathe we part from all we love.

From all the links that bind us; So turn our hearts as on we rove, To those we've left behind us.

When, round the bowl, of vanished years We talk, with joyous seeming,-- With smiles that might as well be tears, So faint, so sad their beaming; While memory brings us back again Each early tie that twined us, Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then To those we've left behind us.

And when, in other climes, we meet Some isle, or vale enchanting, Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet, And naught but love is wanting; We think how great had been our bliss, If heaven had but a.s.signed us To live and die in scenes like this, With some we've left behind us!

As travellers oft look back at eve, When eastward darkly going, To gaze upon that light they leave Still faint behind them glowing,-- So, when the close of pleasure's day To gloom hath near consigned us, We turn to catch one fading ray Of joy that's left behind us.

WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH.

When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved, Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then; Or, if from their slumber the veil be removed, Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again.

And oh! if 'tis pain to remember how far From the pathways of light he was tempted to roam, Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star That arose on his darkness and guided him home.

From thee and thy innocent beauty first came The revealings, that taught him true love to adore, To feel the bright presence, and turn him with shame From the idols he blindly had knelt to before.

O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild, Thou camest, like a soft golden calm o'er the sea; And if happiness purely and glowingly smiled On his evening horizon, the light was from thee.

And tho', sometimes, the shades of past folly might rise, And tho' falsehood again would allure him to stray, He but turned to the glory that dwelt in those eyes, And the folly, the falsehood, soon vanished away.

As the Priests of the Sun, when their altar grew dim, At the day-beam alone could its l.u.s.tre repair, So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him, He but flew to that smile and rekindled it there.

REMEMBER THEE.

Remember thee? yes, while there's life in this heart, It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art; More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers, Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours.

Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and free, First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea, I might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow, But oh! could I love thee more deeply than now?

No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs, But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons-- Whose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird's nest, Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast.

WREATH THE BOWL.

Wreath the bowl With flowers of soul, The brightest wit can find us; We'll take a flight Towards heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us.

Should Love amid The wreaths be hid, That joy, the enchanter, brings us, No danger fear, While wine is near, We'll drown him if he stings us, Then, wreath the bowl With flowers of soul, The brightest wit can find us; We'll take a flight Towards heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us.

'Twas nectar fed Of old, 'tis said, Their Junos, Joves, Apollos; And man may brew His nectar too, The rich receipt's as follows: Take wine like this, Let looks of bliss Around it well be blended, Then bring wit's beam To warm the stream, And there's your nectar, splendid!

So wreath the bowl With flowers of soul, The brightest wit can find us; We'll take a flight Towards heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us.

Say, why did Time His gla.s.s sublime Fill up with sands unsightly, When wine, he knew, Runs brisker through, And sparkles far more brightly?

Oh, lend it us, And, smiling thus, The gla.s.s in two we'll sever, Make pleasure glide In double tide, And fill both ends for ever!

Then wreath the bowl With flowers of soul The brightest wit can find us; We'll take a flight Towards heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us.

WHENE'ER I SEE THOSE SMILING EYES.

Whene'er I see those smiling eyes, So full of hope, and joy, and light, As if no cloud could ever rise, To dim a heaven so purely bright-- I sigh to think how soon that brow In grief may lose its every ray, And that light heart, so joyous now, Almost forget it once was gay.

For time will come with all its blights, The ruined hope, the friend unkind, And love, that leaves, where'er it lights, A chilled or burning heart behind:-- While youth, that now like snow appears, Ere sullied by the darkening rain, When once 'tis touched by sorrow's tears Can ever s.h.i.+ne so bright again.

IF THOU'LT BE MINE.

If thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air, Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet; Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair, Or in Hope's sweet music sounds _most_ sweet, Shall be ours--if thou wilt be mine, love!

Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove, A voice divine shall talk in each stream; The stars shall look like worlds of love, And this earth be all one beautiful dream In our eyes--if thou wilt be mine, love!

And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high, Like streams, that come from heavenward hills, Shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie To be bathed by those eternal rills, Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love!

All this and more the Spirit of Love Can breathe o'er them, who feel his spells; That heaven, which forms his home above, He can make on earth, wherever he dwells, As thou'lt own.--if thou wilt be mine, love!