The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
 | I, II. |
| III, IV. |
| V. |
| VI, VII. |
| VIII, IX. |
 | X. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
98
ON THE BIRTHDAY OF MRS. ---
SONG.
WRITTEN IN IRELAND. 1799.
Of all my happiest hours of joy,
And even I have had my measure,
When hearts were full, and ev'ry eye
Hath kindled with the light of pleasure,
An hour like this I ne'er was given,
So full of friendship's purest blisses;
Young Love himself looks down from heaven,
To smile on such a day as this is.
And even I have had my measure,
When hearts were full, and ev'ry eye
Hath kindled with the light of pleasure,
An hour like this I ne'er was given,
So full of friendship's purest blisses;
Young Love himself looks down from heaven,
To smile on such a day as this is.
Then come, my friends, this hour improve,
Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever;
And may the birth of her we love
Be thus with joy remember'd ever!
Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever;
And may the birth of her we love
Be thus with joy remember'd ever!
99
Oh! banish ev'ry thought to-night,
Which could disturb our soul's communion;
Abandon'd thus to dear delight,
We'll ev'n for once forget the Union!
On that let statesmen try their pow'rs,
And tremble o'er the rights they'd die for;
The union of the soul be ours,
And ev'ry union else we sigh for.
Which could disturb our soul's communion;
Abandon'd thus to dear delight,
We'll ev'n for once forget the Union!
On that let statesmen try their pow'rs,
And tremble o'er the rights they'd die for;
The union of the soul be ours,
And ev'ry union else we sigh for.
Then come, my friends, &c.
In ev'ry eye around I mark
The feelings of the heart o'erflowing;
From ev'ry soul I catch the spark
Of sympathy, in friendship glowing.
Oh! could such moments ever fly;
Oh! that we ne'er were doom'd to lose 'em;
And all as bright as Charlotte's eye,
And all as pure as Charlotte's bosom.
The feelings of the heart o'erflowing;
From ev'ry soul I catch the spark
Of sympathy, in friendship glowing.
Oh! could such moments ever fly;
Oh! that we ne'er were doom'd to lose 'em;
And all as bright as Charlotte's eye,
And all as pure as Charlotte's bosom.
Then come, my friends, &c.
For me, whate'er my span of years,
Whatever sun may light my roving;
Whether I waste my life in tears,
Or live, as now, for mirth and loving;
This day shall come with aspect kind,
Wherever fate may cast your rover;
He'll think of those he left behind,
And drink a health to bliss that's over!
Whatever sun may light my roving;
Whether I waste my life in tears,
Or live, as now, for mirth and loving;
100
Wherever fate may cast your rover;
He'll think of those he left behind,
And drink a health to bliss that's over!
Then come, my friends, &c.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |