Thus man, the sport of bliss and care,
Rises on Time's eventful sea;
And, having swelled a moment there,
Thus melts into eternity!

SONG.

IF I swear by that eye, you'll allow
Its look is so shifting and new,
That the oath I might take on it now
The very next glance would undo!

Those babies that nestle so sly,
Such different arrows have got,
That an oath, on the glance of an eye
Such as yours, may be off in a shot!

Should I swear by the dew on your lip,
Though each moment the treasure renews,
If my constancy wishes to trip,

I may kiss off the oath when I choose!

Or a sigh may disperse from that flower
The dew and the oath that are there!
And I'd make a new vow every hour,

To lose them so sweetly in air!

But clear up that heaven of your brow,
Nor fancy my faith is a feather;
On my heart I will pledge you my vow,
And they both must be broken together!

ELEGIAC STANZAS,

UPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY JULIA ON THE DEATH OF HER BROTHE

THOUGH Sorrow long has worn my heart;
Though every day I've counted o'er
Has brought a new and quickening smart
To wounds that rankled fresh before;

Though in my earliest life bereft

Of many a link by nature tied;
Though hope deceived, and pleasure left;
Though friends betrayed, and foes belied ;

I still had hopes-for hope will stay
After the sunset of delight;

So like the star which ushers day,

We scarce can think it heralds night!

I hoped that, after all its strife,

My weary heart at length should rest,
And, fainting from the waves of life,
Find harbour in a brother's breast.

That brother's breast was warm with truth,
Was bright with honour's purest ray;
He was the dearest, gentlest youth-
Oh why then was he torn away?

He should have stayed, have lingered here,
To calm his Julia's every woe;

He should have chased each bitter tear, And not have caused those tears to flow.

We saw his youthful soul expand

In blooms of genius, nursed by taste; While Science, with a fostering hand, Upon his brow her chaplet placed. We saw his gradual opening mind Enriched by all the graces dear; Enlightened, social, and refined, In friendship firm, in love sincere. Such was the youth we loved so well; Such were the hopes that fate denied -We loved, but, ah! we could not tell

How deep, how dearly, till he died!

Close as the fondest links could strain, Twined with my very heart he grew; And by that fate which breaks the chain, The heart is almost broken too!

Still I feel my heart is breaking,
When I think I stray from thee,
Round the world that quiet seeking,
Which I fear is not for me!-
Farewell, Bessy!

Calm to peace thy lover's bosom-
Can it, dearest! must it be?
Thou within an hour shalt lose him,
He for ever loses thee !-
Farewell, Bessy!

SONG.

COME tell me where the maid is found
Whose heart can love without deceit,
And I will range the world around,
To sigh one moment at her feet,

Oh! tell me where's her sainted home,
What air receives her blessed sigh;
A pilgrimage of years I'll roam

To catch one sparkle of her eye!

And, if her cheek be rosy bright,

While truth within her bosom lies, I'll gaze upon her, morn and night,

Till my heart leave me through my eyes!

Show me on earth a thing so rare,

I'll own all miracles are true;

To make one maid sincere and fair,
Oh! 'tis the utmost Heaven can do!

ΤΟ

WITH all my soul, then, let us part,
Since both are anxious to be free;
And I will send you home your heart,
If you will send back mine to me.

We've had some happy hours together,
But joy must often change its wing;
And spring would be but gloomy weather,
If we had nothing else but spring.

"Tis not that I expect to find

A more devoted, fond, and true one, With rosier cheek or sweeter mindEnough for me that she's a new one.

Thus let us leave the bower of love,
Where we have loitered long in bliss;
And you may down that pathway rove,
While I shall take my way through this.

Our hearts have suffered little harm
In this short fever of desire;
You have not lost a single charm,
Nor I one spark of feeling fire.

My kisses have not stained the rose
Which Nature hung upon your lip;
And still your sigh with nectar flows
For many a raptured soul to sip.

Farewell! and when some other fair
Shall call your wanderer to her arms,
"Twill be my luxury to compare

Her spells with your remembered charms.

"This cheek,' I'll say, 'is not so bright As one that used to meet my kiss; This eye has not such liquid light

As one that used to talk of bliss!'

Farewell! and when some future lover
Shall claim the heart which I resign,
And in exulting joys discover

All the charms that once were mine;

I think I should be sweetly blest,
If, in a soft imperfect sigh,
You'd say, while to his bosom prest,
He loves not half so well as Ï!

EPISTLES, ODES, AND OTHER POEMS.

1806.

TO FRANCIS, EARL OF MOIRA,

GENERAL IN HIS MAJESTY'S FORCES, MASTER-GENERAL OF THE ORDNANCE, CONSTABLE OF THE TOWER, ETC.

In a

MY LORD,It is impossible to think of addressing a Dedication to your Lordship without calling to mind the well-known reply of the Spartan to a rhetorician who proposed to pronounce an eulogium on Hercules. On Hercules!' said the honest Spartan, who ever thought of blaming Hercules? similar manner, the concurrence of public opinion has left to the panegyrist of your Lordship a very superfluous task. I shall therefore be silent on the subject, and merely entreat your indulgence to the very humble tribute of gratitude which I have here the honour to present. I am, my Lord, With every feeling of attachment and respect, Your Lordship's very devoted servant,

THOMAS MOORE.

27, Bury Street, St. James's, April 10, 1806.

PREFACE.

THE principal poems in the following Collection were written during an absence of fourteen months from Europe. Though curiosity was certainly not the motive of my voyage to America, yet it happened that the gratification of curiosity was the only advantage which I derived from it. Finding myself in the country of a new people, whose infancy had promised so much, and whose progress to maturity has been an object of such interesting speculation, I determined to employ the short period of time, which my plan of return to Europe afforded me, in travelling through a few of the States, and acquiring some knowledge of the inhabitants.

The impression which my mind received from the character and manners of these republicans, suggested the Epistles which are written from the city of Washington and Lake Erie.1 How far I was right, in thus assuming the tone of a satirist against a people whom I viewed but as a stranger and a visitor, is a doubt which my feelings did not allow me time to investigate. All I presume to answer for is the fidelity of the picture which I have given; and