When He Who Adores Thee (Thomas Moore Poems)
When he, who adores thee, has left but the name Of his fault and his sorrows behind, Oh! say wilt ...
When he, who adores thee, has left but the name Of his fault and his sorrows behind, Oh! say wilt ...
You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride, How meekly she bless'd her humble lot, When the stranger, William, had made her ...
Fairest! put on a while These pinions of light I bring thee, And o'er thy own green isle In fancy ...
Oh! blame not the bard, if he fly to the bowers Where Pleasure lies, carelessly smiling at Fame; He was ...
When daylight was yet sleeping under the pillow, And stars in the heavens still lingering shone, Young Kitty, all blushing, ...
Rich and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore; But oh! ...
Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me Some song of ancient days, Whose sounds, in this sad memory, Long-buried dreams ...
The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, As ...
Though humble the banquet to which I invite thee, Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command; Eyes, ...
Weep on, weep on, your hour is past, Your dreams of pride are o'er; The fatal chain is round you ...
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