The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
 | I, II. |
| III, IV. |
| V. |
| VI, VII. |
 | VIII, IX. |
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| MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. |
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| X. |
 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
105
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
107
SCEPTICISM.
Ere Psyche drank the cup, that shed
Immortal Life into her soul,
Some evil spirit pour'd, 'tis said,
One drop of Doubt into the bowl—
Immortal Life into her soul,
Some evil spirit pour'd, 'tis said,
One drop of Doubt into the bowl—
Which, mingling darkly with the stream,
To Psyche's lips—she knew not why—
Made ev'n that blessed nectar seem
As though its sweetness soon would die.
To Psyche's lips—she knew not why—
Made ev'n that blessed nectar seem
As though its sweetness soon would die.
Oft, in the very arms of Love,
A chill came o'er her heart—a fear
That Death might, even yet, remove
Her spirit from that happy sphere.
A chill came o'er her heart—a fear
That Death might, even yet, remove
Her spirit from that happy sphere.
108
“Those sunny ringlets,” she exclaim'd,
Twining them round her snowy fingers;
“That forehead, where a light, unnam'd,
“Unknown on earth, for ever lingers;
Twining them round her snowy fingers;
“That forehead, where a light, unnam'd,
“Unknown on earth, for ever lingers;
“Those lips, through which I feel the breath
“Of Heav'n itself, whene'er they sever—
“Say, are they mine, beyond all death,
“My own, hereafter, and for ever?
“Of Heav'n itself, whene'er they sever—
“Say, are they mine, beyond all death,
“My own, hereafter, and for ever?
“Smile not—I know that starry brow,
“Those ringlets, and bright lips of thine,
“Will always shine, as they do now—
“But shall I live to see them shine?”
“Those ringlets, and bright lips of thine,
“Will always shine, as they do now—
“But shall I live to see them shine?”
In vain did Love say, “Turn thine eyes
“On all that sparkles round thee here—
“Thou'rt now in heaven, where nothing dies,
“And in these arms—what canst thou fear?”
“On all that sparkles round thee here—
“Thou'rt now in heaven, where nothing dies,
“And in these arms—what canst thou fear?”
In vain—the fatal drop, that stole
Into that cup's immortal treasure,
Had lodg'd its bitter near her soul,
And gave a tinge to every pleasure.
Into that cup's immortal treasure,
Had lodg'd its bitter near her soul,
And gave a tinge to every pleasure.
109
And, though there ne'er was transport given
Like Psyche's with that radiant boy,
Hers is the only face in heaven,
That wears a cloud amid its joy.
Like Psyche's with that radiant boy,
Hers is the only face in heaven,
That wears a cloud amid its joy.
110
A JOKE VERSIFIED.
“Come, come,” said Tom's father, “at your time of life,“There's no longer excuse for thus playing the rake—
“It is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife”—
“Why, so it is, father—whose wife shall I take?”
111
ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.
Pure as the mantle, which, o'er him who stoodBy Jordan's stream, descended from the sky,
Is that remembrance, which the wise and good
Leave in the hearts that love them, when they die.
So pure, so precious shall the memory be,
Bequeath'd, in dying, to our souls by thee—
So shall the love we bore thee, cherish'd warm
Within our souls through grief, and pain, and strife,
Be, like Elisha's cruise, a holy charm,
Wherewith to “heal the waters” of this life!
112
TO JAMES CORRY, ESQ.
ON HIS MAKING ME A PRESENT OF A WINE STRAINER.
Brighton, June, 1825.
This life, dear Corry, who can doubt?—
Resembles much friend Ewart's wine,
When first the rosy drops come out,
How beautiful, how clear they shine!
Resembles much friend Ewart's wine,
When first the rosy drops come out,
How beautiful, how clear they shine!
And thus awhile they keep their tint,
So free from even a shade with some,
That they would smile, did you but hint,
That darker drops would ever come.
So free from even a shade with some,
That they would smile, did you but hint,
That darker drops would ever come.
But soon the ruby tide runs short,
Each minute makes the sad truth plainer,
Till life, like old and crusty port,
When near its close, requires a strainer.
Each minute makes the sad truth plainer,
Till life, like old and crusty port,
When near its close, requires a strainer.
113
This friendship can alone confer,
Alone can teach the drops to pass,
If not as bright as once they were,
At least unclouded, through the glass.
Alone can teach the drops to pass,
If not as bright as once they were,
At least unclouded, through the glass.
Nor, Corry, could a boon be mine,
Of which this heart were fonder, vainer,
Than thus, if life grow like old wine,
To have thy friendship for its strainer.
Of which this heart were fonder, vainer,
Than thus, if life grow like old wine,
To have thy friendship for its strainer.
114
FRAGMENT OF A CHARACTER.
Here lies Factotum Ned at last;
Long as he breath'd the vital air,
Nothing throughout all Europe pass'd,
In which Ned hadn't some small share.
Long as he breath'd the vital air,
Nothing throughout all Europe pass'd,
In which Ned hadn't some small share.
Whoe'er was in, whoe'er was out,
Whatever statesmen did or said,
If not exactly brought about,
'Twas all, at least, contriv'd by Ned.
Whatever statesmen did or said,
If not exactly brought about,
'Twas all, at least, contriv'd by Ned.
With Nap, if Russia went to war,
'Twas owing, under Providence,
To certain hints Ned gave the Czar—
(Vide his pamphlet—price, sixpence.)
'Twas owing, under Providence,
To certain hints Ned gave the Czar—
(Vide his pamphlet—price, sixpence.)
If France was beat at Waterloo—
As all but Frenchmen think she was—
To Ned, as Wellington well knew,
Was owing half that day's applause.
As all but Frenchmen think she was—
To Ned, as Wellington well knew,
Was owing half that day's applause.
115
Then for his news—no envoy's bag
E'er pass'd so many secrets through it;
Scarcely a telegraph could wag
Its wooden finger, but Ned knew it.
E'er pass'd so many secrets through it;
Scarcely a telegraph could wag
Its wooden finger, but Ned knew it.
Such tales he had of foreign plots,
With foreign names, one's ear to buzz in!
From Russia, chefs and ofs in lots,
From Poland, owskis by the dozen.
With foreign names, one's ear to buzz in!
From Russia, chefs and ofs in lots,
From Poland, owskis by the dozen.
When George, alarm'd for England's creed,
Turn'd out the last Whig ministry,
And men ask'd—who advis'd the deed?
Ned modestly confess'd 'twas he.
Turn'd out the last Whig ministry,
And men ask'd—who advis'd the deed?
Ned modestly confess'd 'twas he.
For though, by some unlucky miss,
He had not downright seen the King,
He sent such hints through Viscount This,
To Marquis That, as clench'd the thing.
He had not downright seen the King,
He sent such hints through Viscount This,
To Marquis That, as clench'd the thing.
The same it was in science, arts,
The Drama, Books, MS. and printed—
Kean learn'd from Ned his cleverest parts,
And Scott's last work by him was hinted.
The Drama, Books, MS. and printed—
Kean learn'd from Ned his cleverest parts,
And Scott's last work by him was hinted.
116
Childe Harold in the proofs he read,
And, here and there, infused some soul in't—
Nay, Davy's Lamp, till seen by Ned,
Had—odd enough—an awkward hole in't.
And, here and there, infused some soul in't—
Nay, Davy's Lamp, till seen by Ned,
Had—odd enough—an awkward hole in't.
Twas thus, all-doing and all-knowing,
Wit, statesman, boxer, chymist, singer,
Whatever was the best pye going,
In that Ned—trust him—had his finger.
[OMITTED]
Wit, statesman, boxer, chymist, singer,
Whatever was the best pye going,
In that Ned—trust him—had his finger.
117
WHAT SHALL I SING THEE?
TO ------
What shall I sing thee? Shall I tell
Of that bright hour, remember'd well
As tho' it shone but yesterday,
When, loitering idly in the ray
Of a spring sun, I heard, o'er-head,
My name as by some spirit said,
And, looking up, saw two bright eyes
Above me from a casement shine,
Dazzling my mind with such surprise
As they, who sail beyond the Line,
Feel when new stars above them rise;—
And it was thine, the voice that spoke,
Like Ariel's, in the mid-air then;
And thine the eye, whose lustre broke—
Never to be forgot again!
Of that bright hour, remember'd well
As tho' it shone but yesterday,
When, loitering idly in the ray
Of a spring sun, I heard, o'er-head,
My name as by some spirit said,
And, looking up, saw two bright eyes
Above me from a casement shine,
Dazzling my mind with such surprise
As they, who sail beyond the Line,
Feel when new stars above them rise;—
And it was thine, the voice that spoke,
Like Ariel's, in the mid-air then;
And thine the eye, whose lustre broke—
Never to be forgot again!
What shall I sing thee? Shall I weave
A song of that sweet summer-eve,
(Summer, of which the sunniest part
Was that we, each, had in the heart,)
When thou and I, and one like thee,
In life and beauty, to the sound
Of our own breathless minstrelsy,
Danc'd till the sunlight faded round,
Ourselves the whole ideal Ball,
Lights, music, company, and all!
Oh, 'tis not in the languid strain
Of lute like mine, whose day is past,
To call up ev'n a dream again
Of the fresh light those moments cast.
A song of that sweet summer-eve,
118
Was that we, each, had in the heart,)
When thou and I, and one like thee,
In life and beauty, to the sound
Of our own breathless minstrelsy,
Danc'd till the sunlight faded round,
Ourselves the whole ideal Ball,
Lights, music, company, and all!
Oh, 'tis not in the languid strain
Of lute like mine, whose day is past,
To call up ev'n a dream again
Of the fresh light those moments cast.
119
COUNTRY DANCE AND QUADRILLE.
One night the nymph call'd Country Dance—
(Whom folks, of late, have used so ill,
Preferring a coquette from France,
That mincing thing, Mamselle Quadrille)—
(Whom folks, of late, have used so ill,
Preferring a coquette from France,
That mincing thing, Mamselle Quadrille)—
Having been chased from London down
To that most humble haunt of all
She used to grace—a Country Town—
Went smiling to the New-Year's Ball.
To that most humble haunt of all
She used to grace—a Country Town—
Went smiling to the New-Year's Ball.
“Here, here, at least,” she cried, “though driv'n
“From London's gay and shining tracks—
“Though, like a Peri cast from heaven,
“I've lost, for ever lost, Almack's—
“From London's gay and shining tracks—
“Though, like a Peri cast from heaven,
“I've lost, for ever lost, Almack's—
“Though not a London Miss alive
“Would now for her acquaintance own me;
“And spinsters, ev'n, of forty-five,
“Upon their honours ne'er have known me;
“Would now for her acquaintance own me;
“And spinsters, ev'n, of forty-five,
“Upon their honours ne'er have known me;
120
“Here, here, at least, I triumph still,
“And—spite of some few dandy Lancers,
“Who vainly try to preach Quadrille—
“See nought but true-blue Country Dancers.
“And—spite of some few dandy Lancers,
“Who vainly try to preach Quadrille—
“See nought but true-blue Country Dancers.
“Here still I reign, and, fresh in charms,
“My throne, like Magna Charta, raise
“'Mong sturdy, free-born legs and arms,
“That scorn the threaten'd chaine Anglaise.”
“My throne, like Magna Charta, raise
“'Mong sturdy, free-born legs and arms,
“That scorn the threaten'd chaine Anglaise.”
'Twas thus she said, as 'mid the din
Of footmen, and the town sedan,
She lighted at the King's Head Inn,
And up the stairs triumphant ran.
Of footmen, and the town sedan,
She lighted at the King's Head Inn,
And up the stairs triumphant ran.
The Squires and their Squiresses all,
With young Squirinas, just come out,
And my Lord's daughters from the Hall,
(Quadrillers, in their hearts, no doubt,)—
With young Squirinas, just come out,
And my Lord's daughters from the Hall,
(Quadrillers, in their hearts, no doubt,)—
All these, as light she tripp'd up stairs,
Were in the cloak-room seen assembling—
When, hark! some new, outlandish airs,
From the First Fiddle, set her trembling.
Were in the cloak-room seen assembling—
When, hark! some new, outlandish airs,
From the First Fiddle, set her trembling.
121
She stops—she listens—can it be?
Alas, in vain her ears would 'scape it—
It is “Di tanti palpiti”
As plain as English bow can scrape it.
Alas, in vain her ears would 'scape it—
It is “Di tanti palpiti”
As plain as English bow can scrape it.
“Courage!” however—in she goes,
With her best, sweeping country grace;
When, ah too true, her worst of foes,
Quadrille, there meets her, face to face.
With her best, sweeping country grace;
When, ah too true, her worst of foes,
Quadrille, there meets her, face to face.
Oh for the lyre, or violin,
Or kit of that gay Muse, Terpsichore,
To sing the rage these nymphs were in,
Their looks and language, airs and trickery.
Or kit of that gay Muse, Terpsichore,
To sing the rage these nymphs were in,
Their looks and language, airs and trickery.
There stood Quadrille, with cat-like face
(The beau-ideal of French beauty),
A band-box thing, all art and lace
Down from her nose-tip to her shoe-tye.
(The beau-ideal of French beauty),
A band-box thing, all art and lace
Down from her nose-tip to her shoe-tye.
Her flounces, fresh from Victorine—
From Hippolyte, her rouge and hair—
Her poetry, from Lamartine—
Her morals, from—the Lord knows where.
From Hippolyte, her rouge and hair—
Her poetry, from Lamartine—
Her morals, from—the Lord knows where.
122
And, when she danc'd—so slidingly,
So near the ground she plied her art,
You'd swear her mother-earth and she
Had made a compact ne'er to part.
So near the ground she plied her art,
You'd swear her mother-earth and she
Had made a compact ne'er to part.
Her face too, all the while, sedate,
No signs of life or motion showing,
Like a bright pendule's dial-plate—
So still, you'd hardly think 'twas going.
No signs of life or motion showing,
Like a bright pendule's dial-plate—
So still, you'd hardly think 'twas going.
Full fronting her stood Country Dance—
A fresh, frank nymph, whom you would know
For English, at a single glance—
English all o'er, from top to toe.
A fresh, frank nymph, whom you would know
For English, at a single glance—
English all o'er, from top to toe.
A little gauche, 'tis fair to own,
And rather given to skips and bounces;
Endangering thereby many a gown,
And playing, oft, the dev'l with flounces.
And rather given to skips and bounces;
Endangering thereby many a gown,
And playing, oft, the dev'l with flounces.
Unlike Mamselle—who would prefer
(As morally a lesser ill)
A thousand flaws of character,
To one vile rumple of a frill.
(As morally a lesser ill)
A thousand flaws of character,
To one vile rumple of a frill.
123
No rouge did She of Albion wear;
Let her but run that two-heat race
She calls a Set, not Dian e'er
Came rosier from the woodland chase.
Let her but run that two-heat race
She calls a Set, not Dian e'er
Came rosier from the woodland chase.
Such was the nymph, whose soul had in't
Such anger now—whose eyes of blue
(Eyes of that bright, victorious tint,
Which English maids call “Waterloo”)—
Such anger now—whose eyes of blue
(Eyes of that bright, victorious tint,
Which English maids call “Waterloo”)—
Like summer lightnings, in the dusk
Of a warm evening, flashing broke,
While—to the tune of “Money Musk ,”
Which struck up now—she proudly spoke—
Of a warm evening, flashing broke,
While—to the tune of “Money Musk ,”
Which struck up now—she proudly spoke—
“Heard you that strain—that joyous strain?
“'Twas such as England lov'd to hear,
“Ere thou, and all thy frippery train,
“Corrupted both her foot and ear—
“'Twas such as England lov'd to hear,
“Ere thou, and all thy frippery train,
“Corrupted both her foot and ear—
“Ere Waltz, that rake from foreign lands,
“Presum'd, in sight of all beholders,
“To lay his rude, licentious hands
“On virtuous English backs and shoulders—
“Presum'd, in sight of all beholders,
“To lay his rude, licentious hands
“On virtuous English backs and shoulders—
124
“Ere times and morals both grew bad,
“And, yet unfleec'd by funding blockheads,
“Happy John Bull not only had,
“But danc'd to, ‘Money in both pockets.’
“And, yet unfleec'd by funding blockheads,
“Happy John Bull not only had,
“But danc'd to, ‘Money in both pockets.’
“Alas, the change!—Oh, L---d---y,
“Where is the land could 'scape disasters,
“With such a Foreign Secretary,
“Aided by Foreign Dancing Masters?
“Where is the land could 'scape disasters,
“With such a Foreign Secretary,
“Aided by Foreign Dancing Masters?
“Woe to ye, men of ships and shops!
“Rulers of day-books and of waves!
“Quadrill'd, on one side, into fops,
“And drill'd, on t'other, into slaves!
“Rulers of day-books and of waves!
“Quadrill'd, on one side, into fops,
“And drill'd, on t'other, into slaves!
“Ye, too, ye lovely victims, seen,
“Like pigeons, truss'd for exhibition,
“With elbows, à la crapaudine,
“And feet, in—God knows what position;
“Like pigeons, truss'd for exhibition,
“With elbows, à la crapaudine,
“And feet, in—God knows what position;
“Hemm'd in by watchful chaperons,
“Inspectors of your airs and graces,
“Who intercept all whisper'd tones,
“And read your telegraphic faces;
“Inspectors of your airs and graces,
“Who intercept all whisper'd tones,
“And read your telegraphic faces;
125
“Unable with the youth ador'd,
“In that grim cordon of Mammas,
“To interchange one tender word,
“Though whisper'd but in queue-de-chats.
“In that grim cordon of Mammas,
“To interchange one tender word,
“Though whisper'd but in queue-de-chats.
“Ah did you know how blest we rang'd,
“Ere vile Quadrille usurp'd the fiddle—
“What looks in setting were exchang'd,
“What tender words in down the middle;
“Ere vile Quadrille usurp'd the fiddle—
“What looks in setting were exchang'd,
“What tender words in down the middle;
“How many a couple, like the wind,
“Which nothing in its course controls,
“Left time and chaperons far behind,
“And gave a loose to legs and souls;
“Which nothing in its course controls,
“Left time and chaperons far behind,
“And gave a loose to legs and souls;
“How matrimony throve—ere stopp'd
“By this cold, silent, foot-coquetting—
“How charmingly one's partner popp'd
“The' important question in poussette-ing.
“By this cold, silent, foot-coquetting—
“How charmingly one's partner popp'd
“The' important question in poussette-ing.
“While now, alas—no sly advances—
“No marriage hints—all goes on badly—
“'Twixt Parson Malthus and French Dances,
“We, girls, are at a discount sadly.
“No marriage hints—all goes on badly—
“'Twixt Parson Malthus and French Dances,
“We, girls, are at a discount sadly.
126
“Sir William Scott (now Baron Stowell)
“Declares not half so much is made
“By Licences—and he must know well—
“Since vile Quadrilling spoil'd the trade.”
“Declares not half so much is made
“By Licences—and he must know well—
“Since vile Quadrilling spoil'd the trade.”
She ceas'd—tears fell from every Miss—
She now had touch'd the true pathetic:—
One such authentic fact as this,
Is worth whole volumes theoretic.
She now had touch'd the true pathetic:—
One such authentic fact as this,
Is worth whole volumes theoretic.
Instant the cry was “Country Dance!”
And the maid saw, with brightening face,
The Steward of the night advance,
And lead her to her birthright place.
And the maid saw, with brightening face,
The Steward of the night advance,
And lead her to her birthright place.
The fiddles, which awhile had ceas'd,
Now tun'd again their summons sweet,
And, for one happy night, at least,
Old England's triumph was complete.
Now tun'd again their summons sweet,
And, for one happy night, at least,
Old England's triumph was complete.
127
GAZEL.
Haste, Maami, the spring is nigh;
Already, in the' unopen'd flowers
That sleep around us, Fancy's eye
Can see the blush of future bowers;
And joy it brings to thee and me,
My own beloved Maami!
Already, in the' unopen'd flowers
That sleep around us, Fancy's eye
Can see the blush of future bowers;
And joy it brings to thee and me,
My own beloved Maami!
The streamlet frozen on its way,
To feed the marble Founts of Kings,
Now, loosen'd by the vernal ray,
Upon its path exulting springs—
As doth this bounding heart to thee,
My ever blissful Maami!
To feed the marble Founts of Kings,
Now, loosen'd by the vernal ray,
Upon its path exulting springs—
As doth this bounding heart to thee,
My ever blissful Maami!
Such bright hours were not made to stay;
Enough if they a while remain,
Like Irem's bowers, that fade away,
From time to time, and come again.
And life shall all one Irem be
For us, my gentle Maami.
Enough if they a while remain,
Like Irem's bowers, that fade away,
From time to time, and come again.
And life shall all one Irem be
For us, my gentle Maami.
128
O haste, for this impatient heart,
Is like the rose in Yemen's vale,
That rends its inmost leaves apart
With passion for the nightingale;
So languishes this soul for thee,
My bright and blushing Maami!
Is like the rose in Yemen's vale,
That rends its inmost leaves apart
With passion for the nightingale;
So languishes this soul for thee,
My bright and blushing Maami!
129
LINES ON THE DEATH OF JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. OF DUBLIN.
If ever life was prosperously cast,
If ever life was like the lengthen'd flow
Of some sweet music, sweetness to the last,
'Twas his who, mourn'd by many, sleeps below.
If ever life was like the lengthen'd flow
Of some sweet music, sweetness to the last,
'Twas his who, mourn'd by many, sleeps below.
The sunny temper, bright where all is strife,
The simple heart above all worldly wiles;
Light wit that plays along the calm of life,
And stirs its languid surface into smiles;
The simple heart above all worldly wiles;
Light wit that plays along the calm of life,
And stirs its languid surface into smiles;
Pure charity, that comes not in a shower,
Sudden and loud, oppressing what it feeds,
But, like the dew, with gradual silent power,
Felt in the bloom it leaves along the meads;
Sudden and loud, oppressing what it feeds,
But, like the dew, with gradual silent power,
Felt in the bloom it leaves along the meads;
130
The happy grateful spirit, that improves
And brightens every gift by fortune given;
That, wander where it will with those it loves,
Makes every place a home, and home a heaven:
And brightens every gift by fortune given;
That, wander where it will with those it loves,
Makes every place a home, and home a heaven:
All these were his.—Oh, thou who read'st this stone,
When for thyself, thy children, to the sky
Thou humbly prayest, ask this boon alone,
That ye like him may live, like him may die!
When for thyself, thy children, to the sky
Thou humbly prayest, ask this boon alone,
That ye like him may live, like him may die!
131
GENIUS AND CRITICISM.
Scripsit quidem fata, sed sequitur.
Seneca.
Of old, the Sultan Genius reign'd,
As Nature meant, supreme, alone;
With mind uncheck'd, and hands unchain'd,
His views, his conquests were his own.
As Nature meant, supreme, alone;
With mind uncheck'd, and hands unchain'd,
His views, his conquests were his own.
But power like his, that digs its grave
With its own sceptre, could not last;
So Genius' self became the slave
Of laws that Genius' self had pass'd.
With its own sceptre, could not last;
So Genius' self became the slave
Of laws that Genius' self had pass'd.
As Jove, who forg'd the chain of Fate,
Was, ever after, doom'd to wear it;
His nods, his struggles all too late—
“Qui semel jussit, semper paret.”
Was, ever after, doom'd to wear it;
His nods, his struggles all too late—
“Qui semel jussit, semper paret.”
132
To check young Genius' proud career,
The slaves, who now his throne invaded,
Made Criticism his prime Vizir,
And from that hour his glories faded.
The slaves, who now his throne invaded,
Made Criticism his prime Vizir,
And from that hour his glories faded.
Tied down in Legislation's school,
Afraid of even his own ambition,
His very victories were by rule,
And he was great but by permission.
Afraid of even his own ambition,
His very victories were by rule,
And he was great but by permission.
His most heroic deeds—the same,
That dazzled, when spontaneous actions—
Now, done by law, seem'd cold and tame,
And shorn of all their first attractions.
That dazzled, when spontaneous actions—
Now, done by law, seem'd cold and tame,
And shorn of all their first attractions.
If he but stirr'd to take the air,
Instant, the Vizir's Council sat—
“Good Lord, your Highness can't go there—
“Bless me, your Highness can't do that.”
Instant, the Vizir's Council sat—
“Good Lord, your Highness can't go there—
“Bless me, your Highness can't do that.”
If, loving pomp, he chose to buy
Rich jewels for his diadem,
“The taste was bad, the price was high—
“A flower were simpler than a gem.”
Rich jewels for his diadem,
“The taste was bad, the price was high—
“A flower were simpler than a gem.”
133
To please them if he took to flowers—
“What trifling, what unmeaning things!
“Fit for a woman's toilet hours,
“But not at all the style for Kings.”
“What trifling, what unmeaning things!
“Fit for a woman's toilet hours,
“But not at all the style for Kings.”
If, fond of his domestic sphere,
He play'd no more the rambling comet—
“A dull, good sort of man, 'twas clear,
“But, as for great or brave, far from it.”
He play'd no more the rambling comet—
“A dull, good sort of man, 'twas clear,
“But, as for great or brave, far from it.”
Did he then look o'er distant oceans,
For realms more worthy to enthrone him?—
“Saint Aristotle, what wild notions!
“Serve a ‘ne exeat regno’ on him.”
For realms more worthy to enthrone him?—
“Saint Aristotle, what wild notions!
“Serve a ‘ne exeat regno’ on him.”
At length, their last and worst to do,
They round him plac'd a guard of watchmen,
Reviewers, knaves in brown, or blue
Turn'd up with yellow—chiefly Scotchmen;
They round him plac'd a guard of watchmen,
Reviewers, knaves in brown, or blue
Turn'd up with yellow—chiefly Scotchmen;
To dog his footsteps all about,
Like those in Longwood's prison grounds,
Who at Napoleon's heels rode out,
For fear the Conqueror should break bounds.
Like those in Longwood's prison grounds,
Who at Napoleon's heels rode out,
For fear the Conqueror should break bounds.
134
Oh for some Champion of his power,
Some Ultra spirit, to set free,
As erst in Shakspeare's sovereign hour,
The thunders of his Royalty!—
Some Ultra spirit, to set free,
As erst in Shakspeare's sovereign hour,
The thunders of his Royalty!—
To vindicate his ancient line,
The first, the true, the only one,
Of Right eternal and divine,
That rules beneath the blessed sun.
The first, the true, the only one,
Of Right eternal and divine,
That rules beneath the blessed sun.
135
TO LADY J*R**Y,
ON BEING ASKED TO WRITE SOMETHING IN HER ALBUM.
Written at Middleton.
Oh albums, albums, how I dread
Your everlasting scrap and scrawl!
How often wish that from the dead,
Old Omar would pop forth his head,
And make a bonfire of you all!
Your everlasting scrap and scrawl!
How often wish that from the dead,
Old Omar would pop forth his head,
And make a bonfire of you all!
So might I 'scape the spinster band,
The blushless blues, who, day and night,
Like duns in doorways, take their stand,
To waylay bards, with book in hand,
Crying for ever, “Write, sir, write!”
The blushless blues, who, day and night,
Like duns in doorways, take their stand,
To waylay bards, with book in hand,
Crying for ever, “Write, sir, write!”
So might I shun the shame and pain,
That o'er me at this instant come,
When Beauty, seeking Wit in vain,
Knocks at the portal of my brain,
And gets, for answer, “Not at home!”
That o'er me at this instant come,
When Beauty, seeking Wit in vain,
Knocks at the portal of my brain,
And gets, for answer, “Not at home!”
November, 1828.
136
TO THE SAME.
ON LOOKING THROUGH HER ALBUM.
No wonder bards, both high and low,
From Byron down to ***** and me,
Should seek the fame, which all bestow
On him whose task is praising thee.
From Byron down to ***** and me,
Should seek the fame, which all bestow
On him whose task is praising thee.
Let but the theme be J*r**y's eyes,
At once all errors are forgiven;
As ev'n old Sternhold still we prize,
Because, though dull, he sings of heaven.
At once all errors are forgiven;
As ev'n old Sternhold still we prize,
Because, though dull, he sings of heaven.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |