Thomas Moore ( )


From Irish Melodies. 52. One Bumper at Parting


          ONE bumper at parting!  though many
                Have circled the board since we met,
          The fullest, the saddest of any
                Remains to be crownd by us yet.
          The sweetness that pleasure hath in it
                Is always so slow to come forth,
          That seldom, alas, till the minute
                It dies, do we know half its worth.
          But come  may our lifes happy measure
                Be all of such moments made up;
          Theyre born on the bosom of Pleasure,
                Thy die midst the tears of the cup.

          As onward we journey, how pleasant
                To pause and inhabit awhile
          Those few sunny spots, like the present,
                That mid the dull wilderness smile!
          But Time, like a pitiless master,
                Cries "Onward!" and spurs the gay hours 
          Ah, never doth Time travel faster
                Than when his way lies among flowers.
          But come  may our lifes happy measure
                Be all of such moments made up;
          Theyre born on the bosom of Pleasure,
                They die midst the tears of the cup.

          We saw how the sun lookd in sinking,
                The waters beneath him how bright;
          And now, let our farewell of drinking
                Resemble that farewell of light.
          You saw how he finishd by darting
                His beam oer a deep billows brim 
          So, fill up, lets shine at our parting,
                In full liquid glory, like him.
          And oh! may our lifes happy measure
                Of moments like this be made up,
          Twas born on the bosom of Pleasure,
                It dies mid the tears of the cup.



Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 46
  2. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 60
  3. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 19
  4. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 30
  5. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 9


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