The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 123

"Ho ho, ho ho, my Cupids all,"

Said Love, the little Admiral.

Mock sighs, too,--kept in bags for use, Like breezes bought of Lapland seers,-- Lay ready here to be let loose, When wanted, in young spinsters' ears.

"Ha ha, ha ha, my Cupids all,"

Said Love, the little Admiral.

False papers next on board were found, Sham invoices of flames and darts, Professedly for Paphos bound, But meant for Hymen's golden marts.

"For shame, for shame, my Cupids all!"

Said Love, the little Admiral.

Nay, still to every fraud awake, Those pirates all Love's signals knew, And hoisted oft his flag, to make Rich wards and heiresses _bring-to_.[1]

"A foe, a foe, my Cupids all!"

Said Love, the little Admiral.

"This must not be," the boy exclaims, "In vain I rule the Paphian seas, "If Love's and Beauty's sovereign names "Are lent to cover frauds like these.

"Prepare, prepare, my Cupids all!"

Said Love, the little Admiral.

Each Cupid stood with lighted match-- A broadside struck the smuggling foe, And swept the whole unhallowed batch Of Falsehood to the depths below.

"Huzza, huzza! my Cupids all!"

Said Love the little Admiral.

[1] "_To Bring-to_, to check the course of a s.h.i.+p."--_Falconer_.

STILL THOU FLIEST.

Still thou fliest, and still I woo thee, Lovely phantom,--all in vain; Restless ever, my thoughts pursue thee, Fleeting ever, thou mock'st their pain.

Such doom, of old, that youth betided, Who wooed, he thought, some angel's charms, But found a cloud that from him glided,-- As thou dost from these outstretched arms.

Scarce I've said, "How fair thou s.h.i.+nest,"

Ere thy light hath vanished by; And 'tis when thou look'st divinest Thou art still most sure to fly.

Even as the lightning, that, dividing The clouds of night, saith, "Look on me,"

Then flits again, its splendor hiding.-- Even such the glimpse I catch of thee.

THEN FIRST FROM LOVE.

Then first from Love, in Nature's bowers, Did Painting learn her fairy skill, And cull the hues of loveliest flowers, To picture woman lovelier still.

For vain was every radiant hue, Till Pa.s.sion lent a soul to art, And taught the painter, ere he drew, To fix the model in his heart.

Thus smooth his toil awhile went on, Till, lo, one touch his art defies; The brow, the lip, the blushes shone, But who could dare to paint those eyes?

'Twas all in vain the painter strove; So turning to that boy divine, "Here take," he said, "the pencil, Love, "No hand should paint such eyes but thine."

HUSH, SWEET LUTE.

Hush, sweet Lute, thy songs remind me Of past joys, now turned to pain; Of ties that long have ceased to bind me, But whose burning marks remain.

In each tone, some echo falleth On my ear of joys gone by; Every note some dream recalleth Of bright hopes but born to die.

Yet, sweet Lute, though pain it bring me, Once more let thy numbers thrill; Tho' death were in the strain they sing me, I must woo its anguish still.

Since no time can e'er recover Love's sweet light when once 'tis set,-- Better to weep such pleasures over, Than smile o'er any left us yet.

BRIGHT MOON.

Bright moon, that high in heaven art s.h.i.+ning, All smiles, as if within thy bower to-night Thy own Endymion lay reclining, And thou wouldst wake him with a kiss of light!-- By all the bliss thy beam discovers, By all those visions far too bright for day, Which dreaming bards and waking lovers Behold, this night, beneath thy lingering ray,--

I pray thee, queen of that bright heaven, Quench not to-night thy love-lamp in the sea, Till Anthe, in this bower, hath given Beneath thy beam, her long-vowed kiss to me.

Guide hither, guide her steps benighted, Ere thou, sweet moon, thy bashful crescent hide; Let Love but in this bower be lighted, Then shroud in darkness all the world beside.

LONG YEARS HAVE PAST.

Long years have past, old friend, since we First met in life's young day; And friends long loved by thee and me, Since then have dropt away;-- But enough remain to cheer us on, And sweeten, when thus we're met, The gla.s.s we fill to the many gone, And the few who're left us yet.

Our locks, old friend, now thinly grow, And some hang white and chill; While some, like flowers mid Autumn's snow, Retain youth's color still.

And so, in our hearts, tho' one by one, Youth's sunny hopes have set, Thank heaven, not all their light is gone,-- We've some to cheer us yet.

Then here's to thee, old friend, and long May thou and I thus meet, To brighten still with wine and song This short life, ere it fleet.

And still as death comes stealing on, Let's never, old friend, forget, Even while we sigh o'er blessings gone, How many are left us yet.