The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 115

If life for me hath joy or light, 'Tis all from thee, My thoughts by day, my dreams by night, Are but of thee, of only thee.

Whate'er of hope or peace I know, My zest in joy, my balm in woe, To those dear eyes of thine I owe, 'Tis all from thee.

My heart, even ere I saw those eyes, Seemed doomed to thee; Kept pure till then from other ties, 'Twas all for thee, for only thee.

Like plants that sleep till sunny May Calls forth their life my spirit lay, Till, touched by Love's awakening ray, It lived for thee, it lived for thee.

When Fame would call me to her heights, She speaks by thee; And dim would s.h.i.+ne her proudest lights, Unshared by thee, unshared by thee.

Whene'er I seek the Muse's shrine, Where Bards have hung their wreaths divine, And wish those wreaths of glory mine, 'Tis all for thee, for only thee.

THE SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME.

There's a song of the olden time, Falling sad o'er the ear, Like the dream of some village chime, Which in youth we loved to hear.

And even amidst the grand and gay, When Music tries her gentlest art I never hear so sweet a lay, Or one that hangs so round my heart, As that song of the olden time, Falling sad o'er the ear, Like the dream of some village chime, Which in youth we loved to hear,

And when all of this life is gone,-- Even the hope, lingering now, Like the last of the leaves left on Autumn's sere and faded bough,-- 'Twill seem as still those friends were near, Who loved me in youth's early day, If in that parting hour I hear The same sweet notes and die away,-- To that song of the olden time, Breathed, like Hope's farewell strain, To say, in some brighter clime, Life and youth will s.h.i.+ne again!

WAKE THEE, MY DEAR.

Wake thee, my dear--thy dreaming Till darker hours will keep; While such a moon is beaming, 'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.

Moments there are we number, Moments of pain and care, Which to oblivious slumber Gladly the wretch would spare.

But now,--who'd think of dreaming When Love his watch should keep?

While such a moon is beaming, 'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.

If e'er the fates should sever My life and hopes from thee, love, The sleep that lasts for ever Would then be sweet to me, love; But now,--away with dreaming!

Till darker hours 'twill keep; While such a moon is beaming, 'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.

THE BOY OF THE ALPS.

Lightly, Alpine rover, Tread the mountains over; Rude is the path thou'st yet to go; Snow cliffs hanging o'er thee, Fields of ice before thee, While the hid torrent moans below.

Hark, the deep thunder, Thro' the vales yonder!

'Tis the huge avalanche downward cast; From rock to rock Rebounds the shock.

But courage, boy! the danger's past.

Onward, youthful rover, Tread the glacier over, 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 sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, 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 a.s.sail 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.