Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)

From “Irish Melodies”. 18. We May Roam Through This World

          WE may roam through this world, like a child at a feast,
                Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest;
          And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east,
                We may order our wings and be off to the west:
          But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile,
                Are the dearest gifts that heaven supplies,
          We never need leave our own green isle,
                For sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes.
          Then, remember, wherever your goblet is crown’d,
                Through this world, whether eastward or westward you roam,
          When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,
                Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home.

          In England, the garden of Beauty is kept
                By a dragon of prudery placed within call;
          But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept,
                That the garden’s but carelessly watch’d after all.
          Oh! they want the wild sweet-briery fence
                Which round the flowers of Erin dwells;
          Which warns the touch, while winning the sense,
                Nor charms us least when it most repels.
          Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown’d,
                Through this world, whether eastward or westward you roam,
          When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,
                Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home.

          In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail,
                On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try,
          Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail,
                But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-bye.
          While the daughters of Erin keep the boy,
                Ever smiling beside his faithful oar,
          Through billows of woe, and beams of joy,
                The same as he look’s when he left the shore.
          Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown’d,
                Through this world, whether eastward or westward you roam,
          When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,
                Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home.

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 16
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 75
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 27
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 114. I’ve a Secret to Tell Thee
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 17

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1655

Последние стихотворения

To English version