Thomas Moore

From “Irish Melodies”. 100. Fairest! Put on a While

Fairest! put on awhile
  	These pinions of light I bring thee,
And o’er thy own green isle
  	In fancy let me wing thee.
Never did Ariel’s plume,
  	At golden sunset hover
O’er scenes so full of bloom,
  	As I shall waft thee over.

Fields, where the Spring delays
  	And fearlessly meets the ardor
Of the warm Summer’s gaze,
  	With only her tears to guard her.
Rocks, thro’ myrtle boughs
  	In grace majestic frowning;
Like some bold warrior’s brows
  	That Love hath just been crowning.

Islets, so freshly fair,
  	That never hath bird come nigh them,
But from his course thro’ air
  	He hath been won down by them; – [1]
Types, sweet maid, of thee,
  	Whose look, whose blush inviting,
Never did Love yet see
  	From Heaven, without alighting.

Lakes, where the pearl lies hid, [2]
  	And caves, where the gem is sleeping,
Bright as the tears thy lid
  	Lets fall in lonely weeping.
Glens,[3] where Ocean comes,
  	To ‘scape the wild wind’s rancor,
And harbors, worthiest homes
  	Where Freedom’s fleet can anchor.

Then, if, while scenes so grand,
  	So beautiful, shine before thee,
Pride for thy own dear land
  	Should haply be stealing o’er thee,
Oh, let grief come first,
  	O’er pride itself victorious –
Thinking how man hath curst
  	What Heaven had made so glorious!