Thomas Moore ( )


From Irish Melodies. 9. Though the Last Glimpse of Erin With Sorrow I See


THOUGH the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see,
Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me;
In exile thy bosom shall still be my home,
And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam.

To the gloom of some desert or cold rocky shore,
Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no more,
I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough wind
Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind.

And Ill gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it wreathes,
And hang oer thy soft harp, as wildly it breathes;
Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear
One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.



Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From Irish Melodies. 61. Id Mourn the Hopes
  2. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 3
  3. From Irish Melodies. 10. Rich and Rare Were the Gems She Wore
  4. From Irish Melodies. 92. ODonohues Mistress
  5. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 68


 . Poem to print (Print)

: 956



To English version


@Mail.ru

. eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru