Thomas Moore- Collected Poetical Works

by Thomas Moore

  Safe shalt thou reach thy home at last.

  On, ere light forsake thee,

  Soon will dusk o’ertake thee:

  O’er yon ice-bridge lies thy way!

  Now, for the risk prepare thee;

  Safe it yet may bear thee,

  Tho’ ‘twill melt in morning’s ray.

  Hark, that dread howling!

  ’Tis the wolf prowling, —

  Scent of thy track the foe hath got;

  And cliff and shore

  Resound his roar.

  But courage, boy, — the danger’s past!

  Watching eyes have found thee,

  Loving arms are round thee,

  Safe hast thou reached thy father’s cot.

  FOR THEE ALONE.

  For thee alone I brave the boundless deep,

  Those eyes my light through every distant sea;

  My waking thoughts, the dream that gilds my sleep,

  The noon-tide revery, all are given to thee,

  To thee alone, to thee alone.

  Tho’ future scenes present to Fancy’s eye

  Fair forms of light that crowd the distant air,

  When nearer viewed, the fairy phantoms fly,

  The crowds dissolve, and thou alone art there,

  Thou, thou alone.

  To win thy smile, I speed from shore to shore,

  While Hope’s sweet voice is heard in every blast,

  Still whispering on that when some years are o’er,

  One bright reward shall crown my toil at last,

  Thy smile alone, thy smile alone,

  Oh place beside the transport of that hour

  All earth can boast of fair, of rich, and bright,

  Wealth’s radiant mines, the lofty thrones of power, —

  Then ask where first thy lover’s choice would light?

  On thee alone, on thee alone.

  HER LAST WORDS, AT PARTING.

  Her last words, at parting, how can I forget?

  Deep treasured thro’ life, in my heart they shall stay;

  Like music, whose charm in the soul lingers yet,

  When its sounds from the ear have long melted away.

  Let Fortune assail me, her threatenings are vain;

  Those still-breathing words shall my talisman be, —

  “Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain,

  “There’s one heart, unchanging, that beats but for thee.”

  From the desert’s sweet well tho’ the pilgrim must hie,

  Never more of that fresh-springing fountain to taste,

  He hath still of its bright drops a treasured supply,

  Whose sweetness lends life to his lips thro’ the waste.

  So, dark as my fate is still doomed to remain,

  These words shall my well in the wilderness be, —

  “Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain,

  “There’s one heart, unchanging, that beats but for thee.”

  LET’S TAKE THIS WORLD AS SOME WIDE SCENE.

  Let’s take this world as some wide scene.

  Thro’ which in frail but buoyant boat,

  With skies now dark and now serene,

  Together thou and I must float;

  Beholding oft on either shore

  Bright spots where we should love to stay;

  But Time plies swift his flying oar,

  And away we speed, away, away.

  Should chilling winds and rains come on,

  We’ll raise our awning ‘gainst the shower;

  Sit closer till the storm is gone,

  And, smiling, wait a sunnier hour.

  And if that sunnier hour should shine,

  We’ll know its brightness cannot stay,

  But happy while ’tis thine and mine,

  Complain not when it fades away.

  So shall we reach at last that Fall

  Down which life’s currents all must go, —

  The dark, the brilliant, destined all

  To sink into the void below.

  Nor even that hour shall want its charms,

  If, side by side, still fond we keep,

  And calmly, in each other’s arms

  Together linked, go down the steep.

  LOVE’S VICTORY.

  Sing to Love — for, oh, ’twas he

  Who won the glorious day;

  Strew the wreaths of victory

  Along the conqueror’s way.

  Yoke the Muses to his car,

  Let them sing each trophy won;

  While his mother’s joyous star

  Shall light the triumph on.

  Hail to Love, to mighty Love,

  Let spirits sing around;

  While the hill, the dale, and grove,

  With “mighty Love” resound;

  Or, should a sigh of sorrow steal

  Amid the sounds thus echoed o’er,

  ‘Twill but teach the god to feel

  His victories the more.

  See his wings, like amethyst

  Of sunny Ind their hue;

  Bright as when, by Psyche kist,

  They trembled thro’ and thro’.

  Flowers spring beneath his feet;

  Angel forms beside him run;

  While unnumbered lips repeat

  “Love’s victory is won!”

  Hail to Love, to mighty Love,

  etc,

  SONG OF HERCULES TO HIS DAUGHTER.1

  “I’ve been, oh, sweet daughter,

  “To fountain and sea,

  “To seek in their water

  “Some bright gem for thee.

  “Where diamonds were sleeping,

  “Their sparkle I sought,

  “Where crystal was weeping,

  “Its tears I have caught.

  “The sea-nymph I’ve courted

  “In rich coral halls;

  “With Naiads have sported

  “By bright waterfalls.

  “But sportive or tender,

  “Still sought I around

  “That gem, with whose splendor

  “Thou yet shalt be crowned.

  “And see, while I’m speaking,

  “Yon soft light afar; —

  “The pearl I’ve been seeking

  “There floats like a star!

  “In the deep Indian Ocean

  “I see the gem shine,

  “And quick as light’s motion

  “Its wealth shall be thine.”

  Then eastward, like lightning,

  The hero-god flew,

  His sunny looks brightening

  The air he went thro’.

  And sweet was the duty,

  And hallowed the hour,

  Which saw thus young Beauty

  Embellished by Power.

  1 Founded on the fable reported by Arrian (in Indicis) of Hercules having searched the Indian Ocean, to find the pearl with which he adorned his daughter Pandaea.

  THE DREAM OF HOME.

  Who has not felt how sadly sweet

  The dream of home, the dream of home,

  Steals o’er the heart, too soon to fleet,

  When far o’er sea or land we roam?

  Sunlight more soft may o’er us fall,

  To greener shores our bark may come;

  But far more bright, more dear than all,

  That dream of home, that dream of home.

  Ask the sailor youth when far

  His light bark bounds o’er ocean’s foam,

  What charms him most, when evening’s star

  Smiles o’er the wave? to dream of home.

  Fond thoughts of absent friends and loves

  At that sweet hour around him come;

  His heart’s best joy where’er he roves,

  That dream of home, that dream of home.

  THEY TELL ME THOU’RT THE FAVORED GUEST.

  They tell me thou’rt the favored guest

  Of every fair and brilliant throng;

  No wit like thine to wake the jest,
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  No voice like thine to breathe the song;

  And none could guess, so gay thou art,

  That thou and I are far apart.

  Alas! alas! how different flows

  With thee and me the time away!

  Not that I wish thee sad — heaven knows —

  Still if thou canst, be light and gay;

  I only know, that without thee

  The sun himself is dark to me.

  Do I thus haste to hall and bower,

  Among the proud and gay to shine?

  Or deck my hair with gem and flower,

  To flatter other eyes than thine?

  Ah, no, with me love’s smiles are past

  Thou hadst the first, thou hadst the last.

  THE YOUNG INDIAN MAID.

  There came a nymph dancing

  Gracefully, gracefully,

  Her eye a light glancing

  Like the blue sea;

  And while all this gladness

  Around her steps hung,

  Such sweet notes of sadness

  Her gentle lips sung,

  That ne’er while I live from my memory shall fade

  The song or the look of that young Indian maid.

  Her zone of bells ringing

  Cheerily, cheerily,

  Chimed to her singing

  Light echoes of glee;

  But in vain did she borrow

  Of mirth the gay tone,

  Her voice spoke of sorrow,

  And sorrow alone.

  Nor e’er while I live from my memory shall fade

  The song or the look of that young Indian maid.

  THE HOMEWARD MARCH.

  Be still my heart: I hear them come:

  Those sounds announce my lover near:

  The march that brings our warriors home

  Proclaims he’ll soon be here.

  Hark, the distant tread,

  O’er the mountain’s head,

  While hills and dales repeat the sound;

  And the forest deer

  Stand still to hear,

  As those echoing steps ring round.

  Be still my heart. I hear them come,

  Those sounds that speak my soldier near;

  Those joyous steps seem winged fox home. —

  Rest, rest, he’ll soon be here.

  But hark, more faint the footsteps grow,

  And now they wind to distant glades;

  Not here their home, — alas, they go

  To gladden happier maids!

  Like sounds in a dream,

  The footsteps seem,

  As down the hills they die away;

  And the march, whose song

  So pealed along,

  Now fades like a funeral lay.

  ’Tis past, ’tis o’er, — hush, heart, thy pain!

  And tho’ not here, alas, they come,

  Rejoice for those, to whom that strain

  Brings sons and lovers home.

  WAKE UP, SWEET MELODY.

  Wake up, sweet melody!

  Now is the hour

  When young and loving hearts

  Feel most thy power,

  One note of music, by moonlight’s soft ray —

  Oh, ’tis worth thousands heard coldly by day.

  Then wake up, sweet melody!

  Now is the hour

  When young and loving hearts

  Feel most thy power.

  Ask the fond nightingale,

  When his sweet flower

  Loves most to hear his song,

  In her green bower?

  Oh, he will tell thee, thro’ summer-nights long,

  Fondest she lends her whole soul to his song.

  Then wake up, sweet melody!

  Now is the hour

  When young and loving hearts

  Feel most thy power.

  CALM BE THY SLEEP.

  Calm be thy sleep as infant’s slumbers!

  Pure as angel thoughts thy dreams!

  May every joy this bright world numbers

  Shed o’er thee their mingled beams!

  Or if, where Pleasure’s wing hath glided,

  There ever must some pang remain,

  Still be thy lot with me divided, —

  Thine all the bliss and mine the pain!

  Day and night my thoughts shall hover

  Round thy steps where’er they stray;

  As, even when clouds his idol cover,

  Fondly the Persian tracks its ray.

  If this be wrong, if Heaven offended

  By worship to its creature be,

  Then let my vows to both be blended,

  Half breathed to Heaven and half to thee.

  THE EXILE.

  Night waneth fast, the morning star

  Saddens with light the glimmering sea,

  Whose waves shall soon to realms afar

  Waft me from hope, from love, and thee.

  Coldly the beam from yonder sky

  Looks o’er the waves that onward stray;

  But colder still the stranger’s eye

  To him whose home is far away

  Oh, not at hour so chill and bleak,

  Let thoughts of me come o’er thy breast;

  But of the lost one think and speak,

  When summer suns sink calm to rest.

  So, as I wander, Fancy’s dream

  Shall bring me o’er the sunset seas,

  Thy look in every melting beam,

  Thy whisper in each dying breeze.

  THE FANCY FAIR.

  Come, maids and youths, for here we sell

  All wondrous things of earth and air;

  Whatever wild romancers tell,

  Or poets sing, or lovers swear,

  You’ll find at this our Fancy Fair.

  Here eyes are made like stars to shine,

  And kept for years in such repair,

  That even when turned of thirty-nine,

  They’ll hardly look the worse for wear,

  If bought at this our Fancy Fair.

  We’ve lots of tears for bards to shower,

  And hearts that such ill usage bear,

  That, tho’ they’re broken every hour,

  They’ll still in rhyme fresh breaking bear,

  If purchased at our Fancy Fair.

  As fashions change in every thing,

  We’ve goods to suit each season’s air,

  Eternal friendships for the spring,

  And endless loves for summer wear, —

  All sold at this our Fancy Fair.

  We’ve reputations white as snow,

  That long will last if used with care,

  Nay, safe thro’ all life’s journey go,

  If packed and marked as “brittle ware,” —

  Just purchased at the Fancy Fair.

  IF THOU WOULDST HAVE ME SING AND PLAY.

  If thou wouldst have me sing and play,

  As once I played and sung,

  First take this time-worn lute away,

  And bring one freshly strung.

  Call back the time when pleasure’s sigh

  First breathed among the strings;

  And Time himself, in flitting by.

  Made music with his wings.

  But how is this? tho’ new the lute,

  And shining fresh the chords,

  Beneath this hand they slumber mute,

  Or speak but dreamy words.

  In vain I seek the soul that dwelt

  Within that once sweet shell,

  Which told so warmly what it felt,

  And felt what naught could tell.

  Oh, ask not then for passion’s lay,

  From lyre so coldly strung;

  With this I ne’er can sing or play,

  As once I played and sung.

  No, bring that long-loved lute again, —

  Tho’ chilled by years it be,

  If thou wilt call the slumbering strain,

  ‘Twill wake again for thee.

  Tho’ tim
e have frozen the tuneful stream

  Of thoughts that gushed along,

  One look from thee, like summer’s beam,

  Will thaw them into song.

  Then give, oh give, that wakening ray,

  And once more blithe and young,

  Thy bard again will sing and play,

  As once he played and sung.

  STILL WHEN DAYLIGHT.

  Still when daylight o’er the wave

  Bright and soft its farewell gave,

  I used to hear, while light was falling,

  O’er the wave a sweet voice calling,

  Mournfully at distance calling.

  Ah! once how blest that maid would come,

  To meet her sea-boy hastening home;

  And thro’ the night those sounds repeating,

  Hail his bark with joyous greeting,

  Joyously his light bark greeting.

  But, one sad night, when winds were high,

  Nor earth, nor heaven could hear her cry.

  She saw his boat come tossing over

  Midnight’s wave, — but not her lover!

  No, never more her lover.

  And still that sad dream loath to leave,

  She comes with wandering mind at eve,

  And oft we hear, when night is falling,

  Faint her voice thro’ twilight calling,

  Mournfully at twilight calling.

  THE SUMMER WEBS.

  The summer webs that float and shine,

  The summer dews that fall,

  Tho’ light they be, this heart of mine

  Is lighter still than all.

  It tells me every cloud is past

  Which lately seemed to lour;

  That Hope hath wed young Joy at last,

  And now’s their nuptial hour!

  With light thus round, within, above,

  With naught to wake one sigh,

  Except the wish that all we love

  Were at this moment nigh, —

  It seems as if life’s brilliant sun

  Had stopt in full career,

  To make this hour its brightest one,

  And rest in radiance here.

  MIND NOT THO’ DAYLIGHT.

  Mind not tho’ daylight around us is breaking, —

  Who’d think now of sleeping when morn’s but just waking?

  Sound the merry viol, and daylight or not,

  Be all for one hour in the gay dance forgot.

  See young Aurora up heaven’s hill advancing,

  Tho’ fresh from her pillow, even she too is dancing: