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Moore, Thomas, 1779-1852

"The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Collected by Himself with Explanatory Notes"



[1] Our Wicklow Gold Mines, to which this verse alludes, deserve, I fear,
but too well the character here given of them.
[2] "The bird, having got its prize, settled not far off, with the
talisman in his mouth. The prince drew near it, hoping it would drop it:
but as he approached, the bird took wing, and settled again,"
etc.--"_Arabian Nights_."



NO, NOT MORE WELCOME.

No, not more welcome the fairy numbers
Of music fall on the sleeper's ear,
When half-awaking from fearful slumbers,
He thinks the full choir of heaven is near,--
Than came that voice, when, all forsaken.
This heart long had sleeping lain,
Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken
To such benign, blessed sounds again.
Sweet voice of comfort! 'twas like the stealing
Of summer wind thro' some wreathed shell--
Each secret winding, each inmost feeling
Of my soul echoed to its spell.
'Twas whispered balm--'twas sunshine spoken!--
I'd live years of grief and pain
To have my long sleep of sorrow broken
By such benign, blessed sounds again.



WHEN FIRST I MET THEE.

When first I met thee, warm and young,
There shone such truth about thee.
And on thy lip such promise hung,
I did not dare to doubt thee.
I saw the change, yet still relied,
Still clung with hope the fonder,
And thought, tho' false to all beside,
From me thou couldst not wander.


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