Poem by Thomas Moore

From “Irish Melodies”. 32. After the Battle

Night closed around the conqueror’s way,
  	And lightnings showed the distant hill,
Where those who lost that dreadful day,
  	Stood few and faint, but fearless still.
The soldier’s hope, the patriot’s zeal,
  	For ever dimmed, for ever crost –
Oh! who shall say what heroes feel,
  	When all but life and honor’s lost?

The last sad hour of freedom’s dream,
  	And valor’s task, moved slowly by,
While mute they watcht, till morning’s beam
  	Should rise and give them light to die.
There’s yet a world, where souls are free,
  	Where tyrants taint not nature’s bliss; –
If death that world’s bright opening be,
  	Oh! who would live a slave in this?

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 52
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 38
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 54
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 17
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 56

Print

2361 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version