The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
 | I, II. |
 | III, IV. |
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SWEET INNISFALLEN. |
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| V. |
| VI, VII. |
| VIII, IX. |
| X. |
 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
53
SWEET INNISFALLEN.
Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well,
May calm and sunshine long be thine!
How fair thou art let others tell,—
To feel how fair shall long be mine.
May calm and sunshine long be thine!
How fair thou art let others tell,—
To feel how fair shall long be mine.
Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell
In memory's dream that sunny smile,
Which o'er thee on that evening fell,
When first I saw thy fairy isle.
In memory's dream that sunny smile,
Which o'er thee on that evening fell,
When first I saw thy fairy isle.
'Twas light, indeed, too blest for one,
Who had to turn to paths of care—
Through crowded haunts again to run,
And leave thee bright and silent there;
Who had to turn to paths of care—
Through crowded haunts again to run,
And leave thee bright and silent there;
No more unto thy shores to come,
But, on the world's rude ocean tost,
Dream of thee sometimes, as a home
Of sunshine he had seen and lost.
But, on the world's rude ocean tost,
Dream of thee sometimes, as a home
Of sunshine he had seen and lost.
54
Far better in thy weeping hours
To part from thee, as I do now,
When mist is o'er thy blooming bowers,
Like sorrow's veil on beauty's brow.
To part from thee, as I do now,
When mist is o'er thy blooming bowers,
Like sorrow's veil on beauty's brow.
For, though unrivall'd still thy grace,
Thou dost not look, as then, too blest,
But thus in shadow, seem'st a place
Where erring man might hope to rest—
Thou dost not look, as then, too blest,
But thus in shadow, seem'st a place
Where erring man might hope to rest—
Might hope to rest, and find in thee
A gloom like Eden's, on the day
He left its shade, when every tree,
Like thine, hung weeping o'er his way.
A gloom like Eden's, on the day
He left its shade, when every tree,
Like thine, hung weeping o'er his way.
Weeping or smiling, lovely isle!
And all the lovelier for thy tears—
For tho' but rare thy sunny smile,
'Tis heav'n's own glance when it appears.
And all the lovelier for thy tears—
For tho' but rare thy sunny smile,
'Tis heav'n's own glance when it appears.
Like feeling hearts, whose joys are few,
But, when indeed they come, divine—
The brightest light the sun e'er threw
Is lifeless to one gleam of thine!
But, when indeed they come, divine—
The brightest light the sun e'er threw
Is lifeless to one gleam of thine!
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |