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Would it were worthier! but I am not OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN now
BEAUTY'S BLOOM That which I have been — and
Oh! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom, Less palpably before me — and the glow
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering,
But on thy turf shall roses rear faint, and low.
Their leaves, the earliest of the year; And the wild cypress wave in tender
gloom : Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been
And oft by yon blue gushing stream A sound which makes us linger; — yet – Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, farewell !
And feed deep thought with many a Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the
And lingering pause and lightly tread; Which is his last, if in your memories Fond wretch! as if her step disturb’d dwell
the dead! A thought which once was his, if on ye swell
Away! we know that tears are vain, A single recollection, not in vain
That death nor heeds nor hears distress : He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop- Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less? Farewell! with him alone may rest the
And thou — who tell'st me to forget, pain,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. If such there were — with you, the moral of his strain.
THE DESTRUCTION OF
and gold; She walks in beauty, like the night
And the sheen of their spears was like stars Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
on the sea, And all that's best of dark and bright When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Galilee. Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
That host with their banners at sunset One shade the more, one ray the less,
were seen: Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn Which waves in every raven tress,
hath blown, Or softly lightens o'er her face;
That host on the morrow lay wither'd and Where thoughts serenely sweet express
strown. How pure, how dear their dwellingplace.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings
on the blast, And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, And breathed in the face of the foe as he So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
pass'd; The smiles that win, the tints that glow, And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly But tell of days in goodness spent,
and chill, A mind at peace with all below,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for A heart whose love is innocent!
ever grew still !
And there lay the steed with his nostril all ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY wide,
THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride;
'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, And the foam of his gasping lay white on
Since others it hath ceased to move : the turf,
Yet, though I cannot be beloved, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating
Still let me love! surf.
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone; And there lay the rider distorted and
The worm, the canker, and the grief pale,
Are mine alone! With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail :
The fire that on my bosom preys And the tents were all silent, the banners
Is lone as some volcanic isle; alone,
No torch is kindled at its blaze The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
A funeral pile. And the widows of Ashur are loud in The hope, the fear, the jealous care, their wail,
The exalted portion of the pain And the idols are broke in the temple of And power of love, I cannot share, Baal;
But wear the chain. And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
But 'tis not thus - and 'tis not here – Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Such thoughts should shake my soul, Lord!
Or binds his brow.
The sword, the banner, and the field,
Glory and Greece, around me see ! But, before I go, Tom Moore,
The Spartan, borne upon his shield, Here's a double health to thee.
Was not more free.
Awake! (not Greece she is awake!) Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate;
Awake, my spirit! Think through
whom And, whatever sky's above me,
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake, Here's a heart for every fate.
And then strike home! Though the ocean roar around me,
Tread those reviving passions down, Yet it still shall bear me on ;
Unworthy manhood ! unto thee Though a desert should surround me,
Indifferent should the smile or frown It hath springs that may be won.
Of beauty be, Were't the last drop in the well,
If thou regrett'st thy youth, why live? As I gasp'd upon the brink,
The land of honourable death Ere my fainting spirit fell,
Is here: up to the field, and give 'Tis to thee that I would drink.
Away thy breath! With that water, as this wine,
Seek out — less often sought than found -The libation I would pour
A soldier's grave, for thee the best; Should be — peace with thine and mine, Then look around, and choose thy ground, And a health to thee, Tom Moore.
And take thy rest.
THE PRISONER OF CHILLON
We could not move a single pace,
We could not see each other's face, My hair is grey, but not with years, But with that pale and livid light Nor grew it white
That made us strangers in our sight: In a single night,
And thus together -- yet apart,
Of the pure elements of earth,
And each turn comforter to each
With some new hope, or legend old,
But even these at length grew cold.
An echo of the dungeon stone,
A grating sound, not full and free, And for the same his lineal race
As they of yore were wont to be; In darkness found a dwelling-place;
It might be fancy, but to me We were seven who now are one, They never sounded like our own. Six in youth, and one in
age, Finish'd as they had begun,
I was the eldest of the three, Proud of Persecution's rage;
And to uphold and cheer the rest One in fire, and two in field
I ought to do — and did
best Their belief with blood have seal’d,
And each did well in his degree. Dying as their father died,
The youngest, whom my father loved, For the God their foes denied;
Because our mother's brow was given Three were in a dungeon cast,
To him, with eyes as blue as heaven Of whom this wreck is left the last.
For him my soul was sorely moved :
And truly might it be distress'd
As to young eagles, being free) -
A polar day, which will not see And through the crevice and the cleft A sunset till its summer's gone, Of the thick wall is fallen and left;
Its sleepless summer of long light, Creeping o'er the floor so damp,
The snow-clad offspring of the sun : Like a marsh's meteor lamp:
And thus he was as pure and bright, And in each pillar there is a ring,
And in his natural spirit gay, And in each ring there is a chain; With tears for nought but others' ills, That iron is a cankering thing,
And then they flow'd like mountain rills, For in these limbs its teeth remain, Unless he could assuage the woe With marks that will not wear away, Which he abhorr’d to view below. Till I have done with this new day, Which now is painful to these eyes,
The other was as pure of mind,
But form’d to combat with his kind;
Strong in his frame, and of a mood
Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, When my last brother droop'd and died,
And perish'd in the foremost rank
With joy: - but not in chains to pine: And I lay living by his side.
His spirit wither'd with their clank, They chain'd us each to a column stone, I saw it silently decline And we were three yet, each alone, And so perchance in sooth did mine:
But yet I forced it on to cheer
Had follow'd there the deer and wolf;
To him his dungeon was a gulf, And fetter'd feet the worst of ills.
And scoop'd for him a shallow grave
Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls :
Which round about the wave inthrals:
Sounding o'er our heads it knock'd; And I have felt the winter's spray Wash through the bars when winds were
high And wanton in the happy sky;
And then a very rock hath rock'd,
And I have felt it shake, unshock'd
I said my nearer brother pined,
But he, the favourite and the flower,
For I was sunk in silence lost
I know not why
I could not die,
A light broke in upon my brain,
It was the carol of a bird ;
The sweetest song ear ever heard,
And seem'd to say them all for me!
Or broke its cage to perch on mine,
thine! Or if it were, in winged guise, A visitant from Paradise ; For Heaven forgive that thought! the
sometimes deem'd that it might be
A single cloud on a sunny day,
When skies are blue, and earth is gay.
What next befell me then and there
I know not well I never knew First came the loss of light, and air,
And then of darkness too: I had no thought, no feeling Among the stones I stood a stone, And was, scarce conscious what I wist, As shrubless crags within the mist; For all was blank, and bleak, and gray; It was not night, it was not day; It was not even the dungeon-light, So hateful to my heavy sight, But vacancy absorbing space, And fixedness without a place; There were no stars, no earth, no time, No check, no change, no good, no crime, But silence, and a stirless breath Which neither was of life nor death; A sea of stagnant idleness, Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless !