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And the sounds of joy and grief
As death withdrew his shades from the day;
Now joy, old England, raise!
While the wine-cup shines in light;
Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave !
Of the brave!
BORN in Dublin, and studied at Trinity College. Completed his University education in 1799, and left Dublin for England to enter himself as a member of the Middle Temple, and to study for the English bar. Literature, however, was more attractive to him than law, and he devoted himself to the former. He obtained the countenance and support of some of the most distinguished men of the day, including Lord Lansdowne, the Duke of Bedford, and Lord John Russell, and won for himself almost unbounded popularity as a poet. Through the influence of the last named nobleman, a pension of £300 a year was bestowed upon him. Moore lived a life of great brilliance and fashion, moving as a welcome visitor in the most aristocratic circles. He died in 1852, and was buried in Bromham churchyard, Wiltshire.
Moore's chief works are :--Lalla Rookh and Irish Melodies.
THE POWER OF GOD.
THOU art, O God, the life and light
Are but reflections caught from Thee!
When day with farewell beam delays
Among the opening clouds of even,
Through golden vistas into heaven,
When night, with wings of starry gloom,
When youthful Spring around us breathes,
O THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR!
O THOU who dry'st the mourner's tear!
If, when deceived and wounded here,
The friends, who in our sunshine live,
When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
Come, brightly wafting through the gloom
Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright,
As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day.
THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.
'Tis the last rose of summer
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
This bleak world alone?
THE POWER OF MUSIC. WHEN through life unblest we rove, Losing all that made life dear, Should some notes, we used to love
In days of boyhood, meet our ear, Oh, how welcome breathes the strain ! Wakening thoughts that long have slept ; Kindling former smiles again
In faded eyes that long have wept.
Like the gale that sighs along
That once we heard in happier hours.
Though the flowers have sunk in death; So, when pleasure's dream is gone, Its memory lives in music's breath.
Music! oh, how faint, how weak,
Language fades before thy spell! Why should feeling ever speak
When thou canst breathe her soul so well? Friendship's balmy words may feign;
Love's are e'en more false than they; Oh 'tis only music's strain
Can sweetly soothe, and not betray !
Go where glory waits thee,
Oh, then remember me.
Oh, then remember me.