POETRY. G13 



FROM A SELECTION OF IRISH MELODIES. 

 By Thomas Moore, Esq. 



1. 



I SAW from the beach, when the morning was shinmg, 



A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on ; 

 I came, when the sun o'er that beach was declining, 



The bark was still there, but the waters were gone ! 



Ah ! such is the fate of our life's early promise. 

 So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known ; 



Each wave that we danc'd on at morning ebbs from us, 

 And leaves us at eve on the bleak shore alone. 



Ne'er tell me of glories serenely adorning 



The close of our day, the calm eve of our nighty — 



Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of morning, 

 Her clouds and her tears are worth evening's best light. 



Ob ; who would not welcome that moment's returning, 

 When passion first wak'd a new life thro' his frame. 



And his soul, like the wood that grows precious in burning, 

 Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame. 



2. 



DEAR Harp of my Country ! in darkness I found thee, 



The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, 

 When proudly, my own Island Harp ! I unbound thee. 



And gave all thy chords to light, freedom and song ! 

 The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness 



Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill; 

 But so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness, 



That e'en in thy mirth it will steal from thee still. 



Dear Harp of my Country ! farewell to thy numbers. 



This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine ; 

 Go, — sleep, with the sun-shine of fame on thy slumbers. 



Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than mine. 

 If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, 



Have throbbed at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone ; 

 I was but the wind, passing heedlessly over, 



And all the wild sweetness I wak'd was thv own. 



AS 



