Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 19

Here recline you, gentle maid,
Sweet is this embowering shade;
Sweet the young, the modest trees,
Ruffled by the kissing breeze;
Sweet the little founts that weep,
Lulling soft the mind to sleep;
Hark! they whisper as they roll,
Calm persuasion to the soul.
Tell me, tell me, is not this
All a stilly scene of bliss?
Who, my girl, would pass it by?
Surely neither you nor I.

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 72
2. From “Irish Melodies”. 114. I’ve a Secret to Tell Thee
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 51
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 70. ’Tis Gone, and for Ever
5. From “Irish Melodies”. 102. And Doth Not a Meeting Like This

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