The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
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| III, IV. |
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| VI, VII. |
 | VIII, IX. |
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ODE TO THE WOODS AND FORESTS.
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
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ODE TO THE WOODS AND FORESTS.
BY ONE OF THE BOARD.
1828.
Let other bards to groves repair,
Where linnets strain their tuneful throats,
Mine be the Woods and Forests, where
The Treasury pours its sweeter notes.
Where linnets strain their tuneful throats,
Mine be the Woods and Forests, where
The Treasury pours its sweeter notes.
No whispering winds have charms for me,
Nor zephyr's balmy sighs I ask;
To raise the wind for Royalty
Be all our Sylvan zephyr's task!
Nor zephyr's balmy sighs I ask;
To raise the wind for Royalty
Be all our Sylvan zephyr's task!
And, 'stead of crystal brooks and floods,
And all such vulgar irrigation,
Let Gallic rhino through our Woods
Divert its “course of liquid-ation.”
And all such vulgar irrigation,
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Divert its “course of liquid-ation.”
Ah, surely, Virgil knew full well
What Woods and Forests ought to be,
When, sly, he introduc'd in hell
His guinea-plant, his bullion-tree :—
What Woods and Forests ought to be,
When, sly, he introduc'd in hell
His guinea-plant, his bullion-tree :—
Nor see I why, some future day,
When short of cash, we should not send
Our H---rr---s down—he knows the way—
To see if Woods in hell will lend.
When short of cash, we should not send
Our H---rr---s down—he knows the way—
To see if Woods in hell will lend.
Long may ye flourish, sylvan haunts,
Beneath whose “branches of expense”
Our gracious K---g gets all he wants,—
Except a little taste and sense.
Beneath whose “branches of expense”
Our gracious K---g gets all he wants,—
Except a little taste and sense.
Long, in your golden shade reclin'd,
Like him of fair Armida's bowers,
May W---ll---n some wood-nymph find,
To cheer his dozenth lustrum's hours;
Like him of fair Armida's bowers,
May W---ll---n some wood-nymph find,
To cheer his dozenth lustrum's hours;
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To rest from toil the Great Untaught,
And soothe the pangs his warlike brain
Must suffer, when, unus'd to thought,
It tries to think, and—tries in vain.
And soothe the pangs his warlike brain
Must suffer, when, unus'd to thought,
It tries to think, and—tries in vain.
Oh long may Woods and Forests be
Preserv'd, in all their teeming graces,
To shelter Tory bards, like me,
Who take delight in Sylvan places!
Preserv'd, in all their teeming graces,
To shelter Tory bards, like me,
Who take delight in Sylvan places!
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |