The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore

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Phillips, Sampson, 1857 - 420 страница

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Страница 99 - Go, wing thy flight from star to star, From world to luminous world, as far As the universe spreads its flaming wall; Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years — One minute of heaven is worth them all...
Страница 335 - Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill — Oh ! no : it was something more exquisite still. 'Twas that friends the beloved of my bosom were near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love.
Страница 109 - Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright As they were all alive with light,— And yet more splendid, numerous flocks Of pigeons, settling on the rocks, With their rich restless wings, that gleam Variously in the crimson beam Of the warm west, — as if inlaid With brilliants from the mine, or made Of tearless rainbows, such as span Th
Страница 328 - Dear Harp of my Country ! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, When proudly, my own Island Harp, I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song ! The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill ; But, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness, That ev'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.
Страница 305 - And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers ; Where the sun loves to pause With so fond a delay, That the night only draws A thin veil o'er the day ; Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give.
Страница 311 - Oh ! where's the slave, so lowly, Condemn'd to chains unholy, * Who, could he burst His bonds at first, Would pine beneath them slowly ? What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, • Would wait till time decay'd it, When thus its wing At once may spring To the throne of Him who made it ? Farewell, Erin ! farewell all, Who live to weep our fall...
Страница 105 - She wept — the air grew pure and clear Around her, as the bright drops ran ; For there's a magic in each tear, Such kindly Spirits weep for man ! Just then beneath some orange trees, Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze Were wantoning together, free, Like age at play with infancy...
Страница 113 - And how felt he, the wretched Man reclining there — while memory ran o'er many a year of guilt and strife, flew o'er the dark flood of his life, nor found one sunny resting-place, nor brought him back one branch of grace !
Страница 353 - And all but he departed! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me.
Страница 408 - Jehovah has triumph' d — his people are free! Sing — for the pride of the tyrant is broken, His chariots, his horsemen; all splendid and brave, How vain was their boasting ! the Lord hath but spoken, And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are free!

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