(Thomas Moore)






From Irish Melodies. 16. The Legacy


          WHEN in death I shall calmly recline,
                O bear my heart to my mistress dear,
          Tell her it lived upon smiles and wine
                Of the brightest hue, while it lingerd here.
          Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow
                To sully a heart so brilliant and light;
          But balmy drops of the red grape borrow,
                To bathe the relic from morn till night.

          When the light of my song is oer,
                Then take my harp to your ancient hall;
          Hang it up at that friendly door,
                Where weary travellers love to call.
          Then if some bard, who roams forsaken,
                Revive its soft note in passing along,
          Oh! let one thought of its master waken
                Your warmest smile for the child of song.

          Keep this cup, which is now oerflowing,
                To grace your revel, when Im at rest;
          Never, oh! never its balm bestowing
                On lips that beauty hath seldom blest.
          But when some warm devoted lover
                To her he adores shall bathe its brim,
          Then, then my spirit around shall hover,
                And hallow each drop that foams for him.




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