The moon looks

On many brooks,

"The brook can see no moon but this."1

While gazing on the Moon's Light.

And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen,
The maiden herself will steal after it soon.

'Tis sweet to think that where'er we rove

Ill Omens.

We are sure to find something blissful and dear; And that when we're far from the lips we love, We've but to make love to the lips we are near.

'Tis sweet to think.

"T is believ'd that this harp which I wake now for thee Was a siren of old who sung under the sea.

The Origin of the Harp.

But there's nothing half so sweet in life
As love's young dream.

To live with them is far less sweet

Than to remember thee.2

Eyes of unholy blue.

Love's Young Dream.

I saw thy Form.

By that Lake whose gloomy Shore.

The Last Rose of Summer.

'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone.

When true hearts lie wither'd
And fond ones are flown,

Oh, who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

And the best of all ways

To lengthen our days.

Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear.

Ibi:1.

The Young May Moon.

1 This image was suggested by the following thought, which occurs somewhere in Sir William Jones's Works: "The moon looks upon many nightflowers; the night-flower sees but one moon.

2 In imitation of Shenstone's inscription, "Heu! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse."

You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
Farewell! But whenever you welcome the Hour.

Thus, when the lamp that lighted

The traveller at first goes out,

He feels awhile benighted,

And looks around in fear and doubt.
But soon, the prospect clearing,

By cloudless starlight on he treads,
And thinks no lamp so cheering

As that light which Heaven sheds.

I'd mourn the Hopes.

No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us,
All earth forgot, and all heaven around us.

The light that lies

In woman's eyes.

My only books

Come o'er the Sea.

The Time I've lost in wooing,

Were woman's looks,

And folly 's all they 've taught me.

I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,
I but know that I love thee whatever thou art.

Ibid.

Come, rest in this Bosom.

To live and die in scenes like this,

With some we've left behind us.

As slow our Ship.

Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and free, First flower of the earth and first gem of the sea.

All that's bright must fade,

The brightest still the fleetest;

All that's sweet was made

But to be lost when sweetest.

Remember Thee.

All that's Bright must fade.

Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells

Of youth and home, and that sweet time
When last I heard their soothing chime!

Oft in the stilly night,

Those Evening Bells.

Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond memory brings the light

Of other days around me;

The smiles, the tears,

Of boyhood's years,

The words of love then spoken;
The eyes that shone
Now dimmed and gone,

The cheerful hearts now broken.

I feel like one

Who treads alone

Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,

And all but he departed.

As half in shade and half in sun

Oft in the Stilly Night.

This world along its path advances,

May that side the sun 's upon

Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances!

Ibid.

Peace be around Thee.

If I speak to thee in friendship's name,
Thou think'st I speak too coldly;
If I mention love's devoted flame,
Thou say'st I speak too boldly.

A friendship that like love is warm;
A love like friendship, steady.

The bird let loose in Eastern skies,
Returning fondly home,

How shall I woo?

Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam;

Ibid.

But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her way.

Oh that I had Wings.

This world is all a fleeting show,

For man's illusion given;
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow, -
There's nothing true but Heaven.

-

This World is all a fleeting Show.

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah has triumph'd, - his people are free.

Sound the loud Timbrel.

As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean
Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,
So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion,
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee.

As still to the star of its worship, though clouded,
The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea,
So dark when I roam in this wintry world shrouded,
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee.
The Heart's Prayer.

Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish; Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

Come, ye Disconsolate.

Oh call it by some better name,
For friendship sounds too cold.

Oh call it by some better Name.

When twilight dews are falling soft
Upon the rosy sea, love,

I watch the star whose beam so oft

Has lighted me to thee, love.

When Twilight Dews.

I give thee all, I can no more,
Though poor the off'ring be;
My heart and lute are all the store

That I can bring to thee.1

Who has not felt how sadly sweet

My Heart and Lute.

The dream of home, the dream of home,
Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet,
When far o'er sea or land we roam?

The Dream of Home.

To Greece we give our shining blades.

Evenings in Greece. First Evening.

When thus the heart is in a vein
Of tender thought, the simplest strain
Can touch it with peculiar power.

If thou would'st have me sing and play
As once I play'd and sung,

First take this time worn lute away,
And bring one freshly strung.

Ibid.

If Thou would'st have Me sing and play.

To sigh, yet feel no pain;

To weep, yet scarce know why;

To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,

Then throw it idly by.

The Blue Stocking.

Ay, down to the dust with them, slaves as they are!
From this hour let the blood in their dastardly veins,
That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war,
Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnant in chains.

On the Entry of the Austrians into Naples, 1821.

This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas,
The past, the future, two eternities!

Lalla Rookh. The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan.

But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast
To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last.

1 This song was introduced in Kemble's "Lodoiska," act iii. sc. 1.

Ibid.