The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 29

_Che con le lor bugie pajon divini._ MAURO D'ARCANO.

I do confess, in many a sigh, My lips have breathed you many a lie; And who, with such delights in view, Would lose them for a lie or two?

Nay,--look not thus, with brow reproving; Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving.

If half we tell the girls were true, If half we swear to think and do, Were aught but lying's bright illusion, This world would be in strange confusion.

If ladies' eyes were, every one, As lovers swear, a radiant sun, Astronomy must leave the skies, To learn her lore in ladies' eyes.

Oh, no--believe me, lovely girl, When nature turns your teeth to pearl, Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire, Your amber locks to golden wire, Then, only then can Heaven decree, That you should live for only me, Or I for you, as night and morn, We've swearing kist, and kissing sworn.

And now, my gentle hints to clear, For once I'll tell you truth, my dear.

Whenever you may chance to meet Some loving youth, whose love is sweet, Long as you're false and he believes you, Long as you trust and he deceives you, So long the blissful bond endures, And while he lies, his heart is yours: But, oh! you've wholly lost the youth The instant that he tells you truth.

ANACREONTIC.

Friend of my soul, this goblet sip, 'Twill chase that pensive tear; 'Tis not so sweet as woman's lip, But, oh! 'tis more sincere.

Like her delusive beam, 'Twill steal away thy mind: But, truer than love's dream, It leaves no sting behind.

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade; These flowers were culled at noon;-- Like woman's love the rose will fade, But, ah! not half so soon.

For though the flower's decayed, Its fragrance is not o'er; But once when love's betrayed, Its sweet life blooms no more.

THE PHILOSOPHER ARISTIPPUS[1]

TO A LAMP WHICH HAD BEEN GIVEN HIM BY LAIS.

_Dulcis conscia lectuli lucerna_.

MARTIAL, _lib. xiv. epig. 89_.

"Oh! love the Lamp" (my Mistress said), "The faithful Lamp that, many a night, "Beside thy Lais' lonely bed?

"Has kept its little watch of light.

"Full often has it seen her weep, "And fix her eye upon its flame.

"Till, weary, she has sunk to sleep, "Repeating her beloved's name.

"Then love the Lamp--'twill often lead "Thy step through learning's sacred way; "And when those studious eyes shall read, "At midnight, by its lonely ray, "Of things sublime, of nature's birth, "Of all that's bright in heaven or earth, Oh, think that she, by whom 'twas given, "Adores thee more than earth or heaven!"

Yes--dearest Lamp, by every charm On which thy midnight beam has hung; The head reclined, the graceful arm Across the brow of ivory flung;

The heaving bosom, partly hid, The severed lips unconscious sighs, The fringe that from the half-shut lid Adown the cheek of roses lies;

By these, by all that bloom untold, And long as all shall charm my heart, I'll love my little Lamp of gold-- My Lamp and I shall never part.

And often, as she smiling said, In fancy's hour thy gentle rays Shall guide my visionary tread Through poesy's enchanting maze.

Thy flame shall light the page refined, Where still we catch the Chian's breath, Where still the bard though cold in death, Has left his soul unquenched behind.

Or, o'er thy humbler legend s.h.i.+ne, Oh man of Ascra's dreary glades, To whom the nightly warbling Nine A wand of inspiration gave, Plucked from the greenest tree, that shades The crystal of Castalia's wave.

Then, turning to a purer lore, We'll cull the sage's deep-hid store, From Science steal her golden clue, And every mystic path pursue, Where Nature, far from vulgar eyes, Through labyrinths of wonder flies.

'Tis thus my heart shall learn to know How fleeting is this world below, Where all that meets the morning light, Is changed before the fall of night!

I'll tell thee, as I trim thy fire, "Swift, swift the tide of being runs, "And Time, who bids thy flame expire, "Will also quench yon heaven of suns."

Oh, then if earth's united power Can never chain one feathery hour; If every print we leave to-day To-morrow's wave will sweep away; Who pauses to inquire of heaven Why were the fleeting treasures given, The sunny days, the shady nights, And all their brief but dear delights, Which heaven has made for man to use, And man should think it crime to lose?

Who that has culled a fresh-blown rose Will ask it why it breathes and glows, Unmindful of the blus.h.i.+ng ray, In which it s.h.i.+nes its soul away; Unmindful of the scented sigh, With which it dies and loves to die.

Pleasure, thou only good on earth[2]

One precious moment given to thee-- Oh! by my Lais' lip, 'tis worth The sage's immortality.

Then far be all the wisdom hence, That would our joys one hour delay!

Alas, the feast of soul and sense Love calls us to in youth's bright day, If not soon tasted, fleets away.

Ne'er wert thou formed, my Lamp, to shed Thy splendor on a lifeless page;-- Whate'er my blus.h.i.+ng Lais said Of thoughtful lore and studies sage, 'Twas mockery all--her glance of joy Told me thy dearest, best employ.

And, soon, as night shall close the eye Of heaven's young wanderer in the west; When seers are gazing on the sky, To find their future orbs of rest; Then shall I take my trembling way, Unseen but to those worlds above, And, led by thy mysterious ray, Steal to the night-bower of my love.

[1] It does not appear to have been very difficult to become a philosopher amongst the ancients. A moderate store of learning, with a considerable portion of confidence, and just wit enough to produce an occasional apophthegm, seem to have been all the qualifications necessary for the purpose.

[2] Aristippus considered motion as the principle of happiness, in which idea he differed from the Epicureans, who looked to a state of repose as the only true voluptuousness, and avoided even the too lively agitations of pleasure, as a violent and ungraceful derangement of the senses.

TO MRS,---.

ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSLATION OF VOITURE'S KISS.

_Mon ame sur mon levre etoit lors toute entiere.

Pour savourer le miel qui sur la votre etoit; Mais en me retirant, elle resta derriere, Tant de ce doux plaisir l'amorce l'a restoit_.

VOITURE.

How heavenly was the poet's doom, To breathe his spirit through a kiss: And lose within so sweet a tomb The trembling messenger of bliss!

And, sure his soul returned to feel That it _again_ could ravished be; For in the kiss that thou didst steal, His life and soul have fled to thee.