The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore, Bind 6

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Little, Brown, 1856

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Side 226 - How calm, how beautiful comes on The stilly hour, when storms are gone ; When warring winds have died away, And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, Melt off, and leave the land and sea Sleeping in bright tranquillity...
Side 162 - Twas a bright smile the Angel threw From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear Her harbinger of glory near ! | " Joy, joy for ever ! my task is done — The gates are pass'd, and heaven is won...
Side 216 - His country's curse, his children's shame. Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame. May he, at last, with lips of flame On the parch'd desert thirsting die, — While lakes that shone in mockery nigh Are fading off...
Side 155 - 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.
Side 77 - 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.
Side 283 - And ruder words will soon rush in To spread the breach that words begin ; And eyes forget the gentle ray They wore in courtship's smiling day ; And voices lose the tone that shed A tenderness round all they said ; Till fast declining, one by one, The sweetnesses of love are gone...
Side 159 - Soften'd his spirit) look'd and lay, Watching the rosy infant's play : — Though still, whene'er his eye by chance Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, As torches, that have burnt all night Through some impure and godless rite^ Encounter morning's glorious rays, But hark ! the vesper call to...
Side 200 - Rebellion ! foul, dishonouring word, Whose wrongful blight so oft has stain'd The holiest cause that tongue or sword Of mortal ever lost or gain'd. How many a spirit, born to bless, Hath sunk beneath that withering name, Whom but a day's, an hour's success Had wafted to eternal fame...
Side 274 - 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...
Side 150 - She wept — the air grew pure and clear Around her, as the bright drops ran, For there's a magic in each tear Such kindly spirits weep for man ! Just then beneath some orange trees, Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze Were wantoning together, free, Like age at play with infancy...

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