The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore
Chapter 87 : (SICILIAN AIR.) Say, what shall be our sport today?There's nothing on earth, in se

(SICILIAN AIR.)

Say, what shall be our sport today?

There's nothing on earth, in sea, or air, Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay For spirits like mine to dare!

'Tis like the returning bloom Of those days, alas, gone by, When I loved, each hour--I scarce knew whom-- And was blest--I scarce knew why.

Ay--those were days when life had wings, And flew, oh, flew so wild a height That, like the lark which sunward springs, 'Twas giddy with too much light.

And, tho' of some plumes bereft, With that sun, too, nearly set, I've enough of light and wing still left For a few gay soarings yet.

BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS.

(WELSH AIR.)

Bright be thy dreams--may all thy weeping Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping.

May those by death or seas removed, The friends, who in thy springtime knew thee, All thou hast ever prized or loved, In dreams come smiling to thee!

There may the child, whose love lay deepest, Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest; Still as she was--no charm forgot-- No l.u.s.tre lost that life had given; Or, if changed, but changed to what Thou'lt find her yet in Heaven!

GO, THEN--'TIS VAIN.

(SICILIAN AIR.)

Go, then--'tis vain to hover Thus round a hope that's dead; At length my dream is over; 'Twas sweet--'twas false--'tis fled!

Farewell! since naught it moves thee, Such truth as mine to see-- Some one, who far less loves thee, Perhaps more blest will be.

Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness New life around me shed; Farewell, false heart, whose lightness Now leaves me death instead.

Go, now, those charms surrender To some new lover's sigh-- One who, tho' far less tender, May be more blest than I.

THE CRYSTAL-HUNTERS.

(SWISS AIR.)

O'er mountains bright With snow and light, We Crystal-Hunters speed along; While rocks and caves, And icy wares, Each instant echo to our song; And, when we meet with store of gems, We grudge not kings their diadems.

O'er mountains bright With snow and light, We Crystal-Hunters speed along; While grots and caves, And icy waves, Each instant echo to our song.

Not half so oft the lover dreams Of sparkles from his lady's eyes, As we of those refres.h.i.+ng gleams That tell where deep the crystal lies; Tho', next to crystal, we too grant, That ladies' eyes may most enchant.

O'er mountains bright, etc.

Sometimes, when on the Alpine rose The golden sunset leaves its ray, So like a gem the floweret glows, We hither bend our headlong way; And, tho' we find no treasure there, We bless the rose that s.h.i.+nes so fair.

O'er mountains bright With snow and light, We Crystal-Hunters speed along; While rocks and caves, And icy waves, Each instant echo to our song,

ROW GENTLY HERE.

(VENETIAN AIR.)

Row gently here, My gondolier, So softly wake the tide, That not an ear.

On earth, may hear, But hers to whom we glide.

Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well As starry eyes to see, Oh, think what tales 'twould have to tell Of wandering youths like me!

Now rest thee here.

My gondolier; Hush, hush, for up I go, To climb yon light Balcony's height, While thou keep'st watch below.

Ah! did we take for Heaven above But half such pains as we Take, day and night, for woman's love, What' Angels we should be.

OH, DAYS OF YOUTH.

(FRENCH AIR.)

Oh, days of youth and joy, long clouded, Why thus for ever haunt my view?

When in the grave your light lay shrouded, Why did not Memory die there too?

Vainly doth hope her strain now sing me, Telling of joys that yet remain-- No, never more can this life bring me One joy that equals youth's sweet pain.

Dim lies the way to death before me, Cold winds of Time blow round my brow; Suns.h.i.+ne of youth! that once fell o'er me, Where is your warmth, your glory now?

_'Tis_ not that then no pain could sting me; 'Tis not that now no joys remain; Oh, 'tis that life no more can bring me One joy so sweet as that worst pain.