Two centuries of song : or, Lyrics, madrigals, sonnets, and other occasional verses of the English poets of the last two hundred years . X They cease, and no longer the echoes prolongThe swell of the concert : in silence we float. In silence? O listen I tis womans sweet song;The bentls of the river reply to each note,And the oar is held dripping and still from the boat. Mark the sun that descends on the curve of the flood ISeize, Wilmot,* the pencil, and instant convey To the tablet the water, the banks, and the wood, That their colours may live without change or decay,When these beautiful tin
Two centuries of song : or, Lyrics, madrigals, sonnets, and other occasional verses of the English poets of the last two hundred years . X They cease, and no longer the echoes prolongThe swell of the concert : in silence we float. In silence? O listen I tis womans sweet song;The bentls of the river reply to each note,And the oar is held dripping and still from the boat. Mark the sun that descends on the curve of the flood ISeize, Wilmot,* the pencil, and instant convey To the tablet the water, the banks, and the wood, That their colours may live without change or decay,When these beautiful tints die in darkness away. So when we are parted, and tossed on the deep. And no longer the light on our prospects shall gleam, The semblance of one lovely scene we may keep, And remember the day, and the hour, like a dream\\hen we sighed with delight as we stole down the stream * Mrs. Wilmot, well known for her great talents in drawing, &c. ])K ^^^v- W/n. rA K ?o« Cl r A^k^U.^,, ». :^) ,Or,S ^Mi THOMAS MOORE. .>) 1779-1852. Moore may be said to have remodelled the poetry of Ireland,rewrote its old songs, and remoulded the most tender and patrioticof its legends. From the green isle he wandered to Persiaand Hindostan, seeking fresh regions over which his muse mightwander. Somewhat too cloying with incessant sweetness, his verseis always melodious and refined. ^^ TAKE RACK THE VIRGIN PAGE. WRITTEN ON RETURNING A HOOK. ^ .on Take back the Virgin PageWhite and unwritten still; Some hand more calm and sageThe leaf must fill. Thoughts came as pure as light-Pure as evn yon require : But oh ! each word I writeLove turns to fire. Yet let me keep the book :Oft shall my heart renew. When on its leaves I look,Dear thoughts of y f LkJ IJ,,.^^^- ^\
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1860, bookpu, booksubjectenglishpoetry
