Poem by Thomas Moore

From “Irish Melodies”. 31. Before the Battle

By the hope within us springing,
  	Herald of to-morrow's strife;
By that sun, whose light is bringing
  	Chains or freedom, death or life –
Oh! remember life can be
No charm for him, who lives not free!
  	Like the day-star in the wave,
  	Sinks a hero in his grave,
Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears.

  	Happy is he o'er whose decline
  	The smiles of home may soothing shine
And light him down the steep of years: –
  	But oh, how blest they sink to rest,
  	Who close their eyes on victory's breast!

O'er his watch-fire's fading embers
  	Now the foeman's cheek turns white,
When his heart that field remembers,
  	Where we tamed his tyrant might.

Never let him bind again
A chain; like that we broke from then.
  	Hark! the horn of combat calls--
  	Ere the golden evening falls,
May we pledge that horn in triumph round! 

  	Many a heart that now beats high,
  	In slumber cold at night shall lie,
Nor waken even at victory's sound –
  	But oh, how blest that hero's sleep,
  	O'er whom a wondering world shall weep!

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 54
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 52
3. From “Irish Melodies”. 113. Alone in Crowds to Wander On
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 56
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 38

Print

1736 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version