SONG "MEN OF ENGLAND" Men of England! who inherit Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame, Trophied temples, arch and tomb? For our people's rights and laws, Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory, Worth a hundred Agincourts! SONG TO THE EVENING STAR Star that bringest home the bee, And sett'st the weary labourer free! If any star shed peace, 'tis thou, That send'st it from above, 5 10 15 20 25 Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow, 5. Are sweet as hers we love. 65 Of thrilling vows thou art, Too delicious to be riven Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave! And the mermaid's song condoles, Of the brave! 70 A Danish sea-port town about twenty miles from Copenhagen. Captain Riou, who distinguished himself in an important part of the engagement. By absence from the heart. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER (1804) A Chieftan to the Highlands bound, Thomas Moore 1779-1852 AS SLOW OUR SHIP When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years So faint, so sad their beaming; 10 Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then To those we've left behind us! 15 And, when in other climes we meet With some we've left behind us! Of joy that's left behind us. "Come back! come back!” he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water: The harp of Tara swells; 10 The chord, alone, that breaks at night, 50 And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-oh, my daughter!" Thus freedom now so seldom wakes, ras vain: the loud waves lashed the shore, turn or aid preventing: waters wild went o'er his child, 1 he was left lamenting. 39 55 Its tale of ruin tells: The only throb she gives Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives! 15 SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND (From the same) She is far from the land where her young Hero sleeps, And lovers are round her, sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying! 6 She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, Oh! make her a grave where the sun-beams rest, From her own loved island of sorrow! 15 5 10 To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song- 2 This refers to an old custom of beating on pans, at the time of the swarming of the bees, which was thought to prevent their leaving the premises. If a storm should come and awake the deep, What matter? I shall ride and sleep. I love (oh! how I love) to ride On the fierce foaming bursting tide, When every mad wave drowns the moon, Or whistles aloft his tempest tune, The waves were white, and red the morn, 10 That parts not quite with parting breath; 95 A gilded halo hovering round decay, The farewell beam of feeling past away! 100 15 Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth! Clime of the unforgotten brave! 20 Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was freedom's home, or glory's grave! Shrine of the mighty! can it be, 105 That this is all remains of thee? 25 Oh servile offspring of the freePronounce what sea, what shore is this? The gulf, the rock of Salamis! These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires; And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear That tyranny shall quake to hear, And leave his sons a hope, a fame They too will rather die than shame: For freedom's battle once begun, Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft, is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, Attest it many a deathless age! While kings, in dusty darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, What can he tell who treads thy shore? No legend of thine olden time, No theme on which the muse might soar High as thine own in days of yore, When man was worthy of thy clime. 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 |