Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 71

With twenty chords my lyre is hung,
And while I wake them all for thee,
Thou, O maiden, wild and young,
Disportest in airy levity.

The nursling fawn, that in some shade
Its antlered mother leaves behind,
Is not more wantonly afraid,
More timid of the rustling wind!

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 75
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 27
3. From “Irish Melodies”. 114. I’ve a Secret to Tell Thee
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 16
5. Bright Be Thy Dreams

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