THOMAS MOORE
May 28, 1779-1879
Hush! O be ye silent, all ye birds of May!
Cease the high, clear trilling of your roundelay!
Be the merry minstrels mute in vale, on hill,
And in every tree-top let the song be still!
Cease the high, clear trilling of your roundelay!
Be the merry minstrels mute in vale, on hill,
And in every tree-top let the song be still!
O ye winds, breathe softly! Let your voices die
In a low, faint whisper, sweet as love's first sigh;
O ye zephyrs, blowing over beds of flowers,
Be ye still as dews are in the starry hours!
In a low, faint whisper, sweet as love's first sigh;
O ye zephyrs, blowing over beds of flowers,
Be ye still as dews are in the starry hours!
O ye laughing waters, leaping here and there,
Filling with sweet clamor all the summer air,
Can ye not be quiet? Hush, ye mountain streams,
Dancing to glad music from the world of dreams!
Filling with sweet clamor all the summer air,
Can ye not be quiet? Hush, ye mountain streams,
Dancing to glad music from the world of dreams!
And thou, mighty ocean, beating on the shore,
Bid thy angry billows stay their thunderous roar!
O ye waves, lapse softly, in such slumberous calm
As ye know when circling isles of crested palm!
Bid thy angry billows stay their thunderous roar!
O ye waves, lapse softly, in such slumberous calm
As ye know when circling isles of crested palm!
Bells in tower and steeple, be ye mute to-day
As the bell-flowers rocking in the winds of May!
Cease awhile, ye minstrels, though your notes be clear
As the strains that soar in heaven's high atmosphere!
As the bell-flowers rocking in the winds of May!
Cease awhile, ye minstrels, though your notes be clear
As the strains that soar in heaven's high atmosphere!
Earth, bid all thy children hearken—for a voice,
Sweeter than a seraph's, bids their hearts rejoice;
Sweeter than a seraph's, bids their hearts rejoice;
