Thomas Doore 1779-1852 AS SLOW OUR SHIP (From Irish Melodies, 1807-1834) As slow our ship her foamy track When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years And, when in other climes we meet To live and die in scenes like this, As trav'llers oft look back a'; eve, Still faint behind them glowing So, when the close of pleasure's day THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS (From the same) The harp that once, through Tara's Halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, As if that soul were fled: - So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er; And hearts, that once beat high for praise, No more to chiefs and ladies bright The chord, alone, that breaks at night, Thus freedom now so seldom wakes, Is when some heart indignant breaks, George Gordon Byron 1788-1824 STANZAS FOR MUSIC (1815) "O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit." I. -Gray's Poemata. There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, e'er youth itself be past. II. Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess: The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. III. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears. IV. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest; 'Tis but as ivy leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray beneath. V. Oh could I feel as I have felt,—c -or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a vanish'd scene: As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be, So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me. SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY (From Hebrew Melodies, 1815) I. She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; 5 Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. II. One shade the more, one ray the less, III. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, A mind at peace with all below, SONNET ON CHILLON (Introduction to The Prisoner of Chillon) Eternal spirit of the chainless mind! And thy sad floor an altar-for 'twas trod, |