Erin, Oh Erin.

Like the bright lamp, that shone in Kildare's holy fane,^[1]
    And burn'd thro' long ages of darkness and storm,
Is the heart that sorrows have frowned on in vain,
    Whose spirit outlives them, unfading and warm.
Erin, oh Erin, thus bright thro' the tears
Of a long night of bondage, thy spirit appears.

The nations have fallen, and thou still art young,
    Thy sun is but rising, when others are set;
And tho' slavery's cloud o'er thy morning hath hung,
    The full noon of freedom shall beam round thee yet.
Erin, oh Erin, tho' long in the shade,
Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade.

Unchilled by the rain, and unwaked by the wind,
    The lily lies sleeping thro' winter's cold hour,
Till Spring's light touch her fetters unbind,
    And daylight and liberty bless the young flower.
Thus Erin, oh Erin, thy winter is past,
And the hope that lived thro' it shall blossom at last.

Thomas Moore

Thomas Moore was an Irish poet, singer, and songwriter, celebrated for his Irish Melodies, which are now considered a staple of Irish cultural heritage. Born on May 28, 1779, in Dublin, Ireland, Moore gained fame for his lyrical songs, many of which were set to traditional Irish tunes. Not only a poet, but he was also a staunch advocate of Irish nationalism, often incorporating themes of national identity and resistance into his work. Moore's influential collection 'Irish Melodies' became popular in both Ireland and Britain and helped to define the literary output of the era. He passed away on February 25, 1852, but his legacy in Irish literature and music endures.

Thomas Moore

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XLI.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Her Last Words, At Parting.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XXXII.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

The Song Of Fionnuala.[1]

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Tis Gone, And For Ever.

'Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking,
    Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the dead--
When Man, from the slumber of ages awaking,
    Looked upward, and blest the pure ray, ere it fled.
'Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning
But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning,
That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning,
    And darkest of all, hapless Erin, o'er thee.

For high was thy hope, when those glories were darting
    Around thee, thro' all the gross clouds of the world;
When Truth, from her fetters indignantly starting,
    At once, like a Sun-burst, her banner unfurled.^[1]
Oh! never shall earth see a moment so splendid!
Then, then--had one Hymn of Deliverance blended
The tongues of all nations--how sw...

Thomas Moore

Where Is The Slave.

Oh, where's the slave so lowly,
Condemned to chains unholy,
    Who, could he burst
    His bonds at first,
Would pine beneath them slowly?
What soul, whose wrongs degrade it,
Would wait till time decayed it,
    When thus its wing
    At once may spring
To the throne of Him who made it?

Farewell, Erin.--farewell, all,
Who live to weep our fall!

Less dear the laurel growing,
Alive, untouched and blowing,
    Than that, whose braid
    Is plucked to shade
The brows with victory glowing
We tread the land that bore us,
Her green flag glitters o'er us,
    The friends we've tried
    Are by our side,
And the foe we hate before us.

Farewell, Erin,--farewell, all,
Who live to weep our fall!

Thomas Moore

Erin! The Tear And The Smile In Thine Eyes.

Erin, the tear and the smile in thine eyes,
Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies!
    Shining through sorrow's stream,
    Saddening through pleasure's beam,
    Thy suns with doubtful gleam,
        Weep while they rise.

Erin, thy silent tear never shall cease,
Erin, thy languid smile ne'er shall increase,
    Till, like the rainbow's light,
    Thy various tints unite,
    And form in heaven's sight
        One arch of peace!

Thomas Moore

Let Erin Remember The Days Of Old.

Let Erin remember the days of old.
    Ere her faithless sons betrayed her;
When Malachi wore the collar of gold,^[1]
Which he won from her proud invader.
When her kings, with standard of green unfurled,
    Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger;^[2]
Ere the emerald gem of the western world
    Was set in the crown of a stranger.

On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays,
    When the clear cold eve's declining,
He sees the round towers of other days
    In the wave beneath him shining:
Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime,
    Catch a glimpse of the days that are over;
Thus, sighing, look thro' the waves of time
For the long-faded glories they cover.^[3]

Thomas Moore

Ireland.

Thou green isle of sorrows, I think of thee daily,
And sad are the thoughts that come into my brain,
When here, to my home, o'er the wide, rolling ocean,
Is wafted the news of thy trouble and pain.

Oh, Erin! I love thee in spite of thine errors,
And now for thee, Erin, my heart is forlorn,
Disturb'd as thou art by such various terrors,
Thou beautiful isle, where my kindred were born.

E'en now, in my thoughts, I can climb thy steep mountains,
Or roam through thy valleys, where green shamrocks grow,
Or over thy meadows, where hedges of hawthorn
Stand gracefully clipp'd, an impassable row.

And I see the thatch'd cottage, where often, the stranger,
With kind word of welcome, is met at the door;
The castle or tow'r, a shelter from danger,
When foemen i...

Thomas Frederick Young

Shall The Harp Then Be Silent.

Shall the Harp then be silent, when he who first gave
    To our country a name, is withdrawn from all eyes?
Shall a Minstrel of Erin stand mute by the grave,
    Where the first--where the last of her Patriots lies?

No--faint tho' the death-song may fall from his lips,
    Tho' his Harp, like his soul, may with shadows be crost,
Yet, yet shall it sound, mid a nation's eclipse,
    And proclaim to the world what a star hath been lost;--^[1]

What a union of all the affections and powers
    By which life is exalted, embellished, refined,
Was embraced in that spirit--whose centre was ours,
    While its mighty circumference circled mankind.

Oh, who that loves Erin, or who that can see,
    Thro' the waste of her annals, that epoch sublime--
Lik...

Thomas Moore