Rich And Rare Were The Gems She Wore.[1]

Rich and rare were the gems she wore,
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore;
But oh! her beauty was far beyond
Her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand.

"Lady! dost thou not fear, to stray,
"So lone and lovely through this bleak way?
"Are Erin's sons so good or so cold,
"As not to be tempted by woman or gold?"

"Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm,
"No son of Erin will offer me harm:--
"For though they love woman and golden store,
"Sir Knight! they love honor and virtue more!"

On she went and her maiden smile
In safety lighted her round the green isle;
And blest for ever is she who relied
Upon Erin's honor, and Erin's pride.

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

Love And Hope. (Swiss Air.)

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Calm Be Thy Sleep.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Rhymes On The Road. Extract XVI. Les Charmettes.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

I've A Secret To Tell Thee.

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.

Erin's Address To The Hon. Thomas D'Arcy Mcgee.

O thou son of the dark locks and eloquent tongue,
With the brain of a statesman sagacious, and strong,
And the heart of a poet, half love, and half fire,
Thou hast many to love thee and more to admire;
But I bore thee, and nursed thee, and joyed at the fame
Which the sons of the stranger have spread round thy
I am Erin, green Erin, the "Gem of the sea."    [name.
Listen, then, to thy mother's voice, D'Arcy McGee.

Since the crown from my head, and the sceptre are gone
To the hand of the stranger, who held what he won,
I have borne much of sorrow, of wrong and of shame,
I've been spoken against with scorning and blame;
But still have my daughters been spotless and fair,
And my sons have been dauntless to do and to dare;
For as great as thou art and most precious to ...

Nora Pembroke

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

The Song Of O'Ruark, Prince Of Breffni.[1]

The valley lay smiling before me,
    Where lately I left her behind;
Yet I trembled, and something hung o'er me,
    That saddened the joy of my mind.
I looked for the lamp which, she told me,
    Should shine, when her Pilgrim returned;
But, tho' darkness began to infold me,
    No lamp from the battlements burned!

I flew to her chamber--'twas lonely,
    As if the loved tenant lay dead;--
Ah, would it were death, and death only!
    But no, the young false one had fled.
And there hung the lute that could soften
    My very worst pains into bliss;
While the hand, that had waked it so often,
    Now throbbed to a proud rival's kiss.

There was a time, falsest of women,
    When Breffni's good sword would have sought
That man, thro'...

Thomas Moore

Cornelia's Jewels.

Among the haughtiest of her sex, in noble, quiet pride,
Cornelia stood, with mien that seemed their folly vain to chide:
No jewels sparkled on her brow, so high, so purely fair,
No gems were mingled 'mid her waves of dark and glossy hair;
And yet was she, amidst them all, despite their dazzling mien,
A woman in her gentle grace - in majesty a queen.

While some now showed their flashing gems with vain, exulting air,
And others boasted of their toys, their trinkets rich and rare,
And challenged her to treasures bring that shone with equal light,
Proudly she glanced her dark eye o'er the store of jewels bright.
"Rich as these are," she answered then, "and dazzling as they shine,
They cannot for one hour compete in beauty rare with mine!

"You all seem doubtful, and a smil...

Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

The High-Born Ladye.

In vain all the Knights to the Underwald wooed her,
    Tho' brightest of maidens, the proudest was she;
Brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels they sued her,
    But worthy were none of the high-born Ladye.

"Whosoever I wed," said this maid, so excelling,
    "That Knight must the conqueror of conquerors be;
"He must place me in halls fit for monarchs to dwell in:--
    "None else shall be Lord of the high-born Ladye!

Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn looking round her
    On Knights and on Nobles of highest degree;
Who humbly and hopelessly left as they found her,
    And worshipt at distance the high-born Ladye.

At length came a Knight, from a far land to woo her,
    With plumes on his helm like the foam of the sea;
His visor was d...

Thomas Moore

You Remember Ellen.

You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride,
    How meekly she blest her humble lot,
When the stranger, William, had made her his bride,
    And love was the light of their lowly cot.
Together they toiled through winds and rains,
    Till William, at length, in sadness said,
"We must seek our fortune on other plains;"--
    Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed.

They roamed a long and a weary way,
    Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease,
When now, at close of one stormy day,
    They see a proud castle among the trees.
"To-night," said the youth, "we'll shelter there;
    "The wind blows cold, the hour is late:"
So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air,
    And the Porter bowed, as they past the gate.

"Now, welcome, Lady," exclaimed the youth,--...

Thomas Moore