The Works of Thomas Moore

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Page 328 - And, oh ! if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this.
Page 305 - Alas — how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love ! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied ; That stood the storm, when waves were rough , Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships, that have gone down at sea, • When Heaven was all tranquillity...
Page 295 - WHO has not heard of the Vale of CASHMERE, With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave , * Its temples, and grottos , and fountains as clear As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave?
Page 189 - Oh ! ever thus, from childhood's hour, " I've seen my fondest hopes decay ; " I never loved a tree or flower, " But 'twas the first to fade away. " I never nursed a dear gazelle, " To glad me with its soft black eye, " But when it came to know me well, " And love me, it was sure to die...
Page 66 - And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, An essence that breathes of it many a year ; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm BENDEMEER.
Page 65 - There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER'S ' stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long ; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. That bower and its music I never forget, But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think — is the nightingale singing there yet ? Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER...
Page 160 - And now — behold him kneeling there By the child's side, in humble prayer, While the same sunbeam shines upon The guilty and the guiltless one, And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven The Triumph of a soul Forgiven...
Page 153 - Now, upon Syria's land of roses Softly the light of Eve reposes, And, like a glory, the broad sun Hangs over sainted Lebanon ; Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, And whitens with eternal sleet, While summer, in a vale of flowers, Is sleeping rosy at his feet.
Page 141 - Downward the Peri turns her gaze, And through the war-field's bloody haze Beholds a youthful warrior stand Alone beside his native river. The red blade broken in his hand And the last arrow in his quiver. "Live," said the conqueror, "live to share The trophies and the crowns I bear!
Page 157 - Upon a brow more fierce than that, — Sullenly fierce — a mixture dire, Like thunder-clouds of gloom and fire, In which the Peri's eye could read Dark tales of many a ruthless deed ; The...

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