The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore
Chapter 77 : FAIREST! PUT ON AWHILE.Fairest! put on awhile These pinions of light I bring thee, And

FAIREST! PUT ON AWHILE.

Fairest! put on awhile These pinions of light I bring thee, And o'er thy own green isle In fancy let me wing thee.

Never did Ariel's plume, At golden sunset hover O'er scenes so full of bloom, As I shall waft thee over.

Fields, where the Spring delays And fearlessly meets the ardor Of the warm Summer's gaze, With only her tears to guard her.

Rocks, thro' myrtle boughs In grace majestic frowning; Like some bold warrior's brows That Love hath just been crowning.

Islets, so freshly fair, That never hath bird come nigh them, But from his course thro' air He hath been won down by them;--[1]

Types, sweet maid, of thee, Whose look, whose blush inviting, Never did Love yet see From Heaven, without alighting.

Lakes, where the pearl lies hid,[2]

And caves, where the gem is sleeping, Bright as the tears thy lid Lets fall in lonely weeping.

Glens,[3] where Ocean comes, To 'scape the wild wind's rancor, And harbors, worthiest homes Where Freedom's fleet can anchor.

Then, if, while scenes so grand, So beautiful, s.h.i.+ne before thee, Pride for thy own dear land Should haply be stealing o'er thee, Oh, let grief come first, O'er pride itself victorious-- Thinking how man hath curst What Heaven had made so glorious!

[1] In describing the Skeligs (islands of the Barony of Forth), Dr.

Keating says, "There is a certain attractive virtue in the soil which draws down all the birds that attempt to fly over it, and obliges them to light upon the rock."

[2] "Nennius, a British writer of the ninth century, mentions the abundance of pearls in Ireland. Their princes, he says, hung them behind their ears: and this we find confirmed by a present made A.C. 1094, by Gilbert, Bishop of Limerick, to Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, of a considerable quant.i.ty of Irish pearls."--_O'Halloran_.

[3] Glengariff.

QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND.

Quick! we have but a second, Fill round the cup, while you may; For Time, the churl, hath beckoned, And we must away, away!

Grasp the pleasure that's flying, For oh, not Orpheus' strain Could keep sweet hours from dying, Or charm them to life again.

Then, quick! we have but a second, Fill round the cup while you may; For Time, the churl, hath beckoned, And we must away, away!

See the gla.s.s, how it flushes.

Like some young Hebe's lip, And half meets thine, and blushes That thou shouldst delay to sip.

Shame, oh shame unto thee, If ever thou see'st that day, When a cup or lip shall woo thee, And turn untouched away!

Then, quick! we have but a second, Fill round, fill round, while you may; For Time, the churl, hath beckoned, And we must away, away!

AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS.

And doth not a meeting like this make amends, For all the long years I've been wandering away-- To see thus around me my youth's early friends, As smiling and kind as in that happy day?

Tho' haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine, The snow-fall of time may be stealing--what then?

Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine, We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again.

What softened remembrances come o'er the heart, In gazing on those we've been lost to so long!

The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part, Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng, As letters some hand hath invisibly traced, When held to the flame will steal out on the sight, So many a feeling, that long seemed effaced, The warmth of a moment like this brings to light.

And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide, To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew, Tho' oft we may see, looking down on the tide, The wreck of full many a hope s.h.i.+ning thro'; Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers, That once made a garden of all the gay sh.o.r.e, Deceived for a moment, we'll think them still ours, And breathe the fresh air of life's morning once more.

So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most, Is all we can have of the few we hold dear; And oft even joy is unheeded and lost, For want of some heart, that could echo it, near.

Ah, well may we hope, when this short life is gone, To meet in some world of more permanent bliss, For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hastening on, Is all we enjoy of each other in this.

But, come, the more rare such delights to the heart, The more we should welcome and bless them the more; They're ours, when we meet,--they are lost when we part, Like birds that bring summer, and fly when 'tis o'er.

Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we drink, Let Sympathy pledge us, thro' pleasure, thro' pain, That, fast as a feeling but touches one link, Her magic shall send it direct thro' the chain.

THE MOUNTAIN SPRITE.

In yonder valley there dwelt, alone, A youth, whose moments had calmly flown, Till spells came o'er him, and, day and night, He was haunted and watched by a Mountain Sprite.

As once, by moonlight, he wander'd o'er The golden sands of that island sh.o.r.e, A foot-print sparkled before his sight-- 'Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite!

Beside a fountain, one sunny day, As bending over the stream he lay, There peeped down o'er him two eyes of light, And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite.

He turned, but, lo, like a startled bird, That spirit fled!--and the youth but heard Sweet music, such as marks the flight Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite.

One night, still haunted by that bright look, The boy, bewildered, his pencil took, And, guided only by memory's light, Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite.

"Oh thou, who lovest the shadow," cried A voice, low whispering by his side, "Now turn and see,"--here the youth's delight Sealed the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite.

"Of all the Spirits of land and sea,"

Then rapt he murmured, "there's none like thee, "And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light "In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite!"

AS VANQUISHED ERIN.

As vanquished Erin wept beside The Boyne's ill-fated river, She saw where Discord, in the tide, Had dropt his loaded quiver.

"Lie hid," she cried, "ye venomed darts, "Where mortal eye may shun you; "Lie hid--the stain of manly hearts, "That bled for me, is on you."