Home  »  Familiar Quotations  »  Page 519

John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.

Page 519

Thomas Moore. (1779–1852) (continued)
    A Persian’s heaven is eas’ly made:
’T is but black eyes and lemonade.
          Intercepted Letters. Letter vi.
    There was a little man, and he had a little soul;
And he said, Little Soul, let us try, try, try!
          Little Man and Little Soul.
    Go where glory waits thee! 1
But while fame elates thee,
  Oh, still remember me!
          Go where Glory waits thee.
    Oh, breathe not his name! let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonour’d his relics are laid,
          Oh breathe not his Name.
    And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
          Oh breathe not his Name.
    The harp that once through Tara’s halls
  The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls
  As if that soul were fled.
So sleeps the pride of former days,
  So glory’s thrill is o’er;
And hearts that once beat high for praise
  Now feel that pulse no more.
          The Harp that once through Tara’s Halls.
    Who ran
Through each mode of the lyre, and was master of all.
          On the Death of Sheridan.
    Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright,
Ne’er carried a heart-stain away on its blade.
          On the Death of Sheridan.
    Good at a fight, but better at a play;
Godlike in giving, but the devil to pay.
          On a Cast of Sheridan’s Hand.
Note 1.
This goin ware glory waits ye haint one agreeable feetur.—James Russell Lowell: The Biglow Papers. First Series, No. 11. [back]