Poems (Dorr)/Thomas Moore
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;
Floating down the silence of a hundred years,
Lo! its deathless music thrills our listening ears!
Sweeter than a seraph's, bids their hearts rejoice;
Floating down the silence of a hundred years,
Lo! its deathless music thrills our listening ears!
'Tis the voice our fathers loved so long ago,
Songs to which they listened warbling clear and low;
Hark, "Ye Disconsolate!" while the minstrel pure
Sings—"Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure!
Songs to which they listened warbling clear and low;
Hark, "Ye Disconsolate!" while the minstrel pure
Sings—"Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure!
Sings of love's wild rapture triumphing o'er pain,
Glorying in giving, counting loss but gain;
Sings the warrior's passion and the patriot's pride,
And the brave, unshrinking, who for glory died-
Glorying in giving, counting loss but gain;
Sings the warrior's passion and the patriot's pride,
And the brave, unshrinking, who for glory died-
Sings of Erin smiling through a mist of tears;
Of her patient waiting all the weary years;
Sings the pain of parting, and the joy divine
When the bliss of meeting stirs the heart like wine;
Of her patient waiting all the weary years;
Sings the pain of parting, and the joy divine
When the bliss of meeting stirs the heart like wine;
Sings of memories waking in "the stilly night;"
Of the "young dreams" fading in the morning light;
Of the "rose of summer" perishing too soon;
Of the early splendors waning ere the noon!
Of the "young dreams" fading in the morning light;
Of the "rose of summer" perishing too soon;
Of the early splendors waning ere the noon!
O thou tender singer! All the air to-day
Trembles with the burden of thy "farewell" lay;
Crowns and thrones may crumble, into darkness hurled,
Yet is song immortal; song shall rule the world!
Trembles with the burden of thy "farewell" lay;
Crowns and thrones may crumble, into darkness hurled,
Yet is song immortal; song shall rule the world!