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The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore

Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes
  

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Of those young maids who've met to fleet
In song and dance this evening's hours,

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Far happier now the bosoms beat,
Than when they last adorn'd these bowers;
For tidings of glad sound had come,
At break of day, from the far isles—
Tidings like breath of life to some—
That Zea's sons would soon wing home,
Crown'd with the light of Victory's smiles
To meet that brightest of all meeds
That wait on high, heroic deeds,
When gentle eyes that scarce, for tears,
Could trace the warrior's parting track,
Shall, like a misty morn that clears,
When the long-absent sun appears,
Shine out, all bliss, to hail him back.