When Through The Piazzetta. (Venetian Air.)

When thro' the Piazzetta
    Night breathes her cool air,
Then, dearest Ninetta,
    I'll come to thee there.
Beneath thy mask shrouded,
    I'll know thee afar,
As Love knows tho' clouded
    His own Evening Star.

In garb, then, resembling
    Some gay gondolier,
I'll whisper thee, trembling,
    "Our bark, love, is near:
"Now, now, while there hover
    "Those clouds o'er the moon,
"'Twill waft thee safe over
    "Yon silent Lagoon."

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

As Down In The Sunless Retreats. (Air.--Haydn.)

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Religion And Trade.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

No--Leave My Heart To Rest.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

To Phillis.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Row Gently Here. (Venetian Air.)

        Row gently here,
        My gondolier,
    So softly wake the tide,
        That not an ear.
        On earth, may hear,
    But hers to whom we glide.
Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well
    As starry eyes to see,
Oh, think what tales 'twould have to tell
    Of wandering youths like me!

        Now rest thee here.
        My gondolier;
    Hush, hush, for up I go,
        To climb yon light
        Balcony's height,
    While thou keep'st watch below.
Ah! did we take for Heaven above
    But half such pains as we
Take, day and night, for woman's love,
    What' Angels we should be.

Thomas Moore

Oh, Come To Me When Daylight Sets. (Venetian Air.)

Oh, come to me when daylight sets;
    Sweet! then come to me,
When smoothly go our gondolets
    O'er the moonlight sea.
When Mirth's awake, and Love begins,
    Beneath that glancing ray,
With sound of lutes and mandolins,
    To steal young hearts away.
Then, come to me when daylight sets;
    Sweet! then come to me,
When smoothly go our gondolets
    O'er the moonlight sea.

Oh, then's the hour for those who love,
    Sweet, like thee and me;
When all's so calm below, above,
    In Heaven and o'er the sea.
When maiden's sing sweet barcarolles,
    And Echo sings again
So sweet, that all with ears and souls
    Should love and listen then.
So, come to me when daylight sets;
    Sweet! then come to me,
When smoothly go our ...

Thomas Moore

To Lord Viscount Strangford.

ABOARD THE PHAETON FRIGATE, OFF THE AZORES, BY MOONLIGHT.


Sweet Moon! if, like Crotona's sage,^[1]
    By any spell my hand could dare
To make thy disk its ample page,
    And write my thoughts, my wishes there;
How many a friend, whose careless eye
Now wanders o'er that starry sky,
Should smile, upon thy orb to meet
The recollection, kind and sweet,
The reveries of fond regret,
The promise, never to forget,
And all my heart and soul would send
To many a dear-loved, distant friend.

How little, when we parted last,
I thought those pleasant times were past,
For ever past, when brilliant joy
Was all my vacant heart's employ:
When, fresh from mirth to mirth again,
    We thought the rapid hours too few;
Our only use for k...

Thomas Moore

At Night.

^[1]


At night, when all is still around.
How sweet to hear the distant sound
    Of footstep, coming soft and light!
What pleasure in the anxious beat,
With which the bosom flies to meet
    That foot that comes so soft at night!

And then, at night, how sweet to say
"'Tis late, my love!" and chide delay,
    Tho' still the western clouds are bright;
Oh! happy, too, the silent press,
The eloquence of mute caress.
    With those we love exchanged at night!

Thomas Moore

How Oft, When Watching Stars. (Savoyard Air.)

Oft, when the watching stars grow pale,
    And round me sleeps the moonlight scene,
To hear a flute through yonder vale
    I from my casement lean.
"Come, come, my love!" each note then seems to say,
"Oh, come, my love! the night wears fast away!"
    Never to mortal ear
        Could words, tho' warm they be,
    Speak Passion's language half so clear
        As do those notes to me!

Then quick my own light lute I seek,
    And strike the chords with loudest swell;
And, tho' they naught to others speak,
    He knows their language well.
"I come, my love!" each note then seems to say,
"I come, my love!--thine, thine till break of day."
    Oh, weak the power of words,
        The hues of painting dim
    Compared to what those simple c...

Thomas Moore

Farewell, Theresa! (Venetian Air.)

Farewell, Theresa! yon cloud that over
    Heaven's pale night-star gathering we see,
Will scarce from that pure orb have past ere thy lover
Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee.

Long, like that dim cloud, I've hung around thee,
    Darkening thy prospects, saddening thy brow;
With gay heart, Theresa, and bright cheek I found thee;
    Oh, think how changed, love, how changed art thou now!

But here I free thee: like one awaking
    From fearful slumber, thou break'st the spell;
'Tis over--the moon, too, her bondage is breaking--
Past are the dark clouds; Theresa, farewell!

Thomas Moore