Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1879-08-24
THOMAS MOORE.

The following beautiful lyric poem was
read by Oliver Wendell Holmes at the recent
celebration, in Boston, of the centennial ami
verSary Of the birth OF the poet Moore:
Enchanter of Erin, whose magic has bound US
Thy wand for one moment we fondly would
claim,
Entranced while il summons the phantoms
around us,
That blush into life at the sound of thy name
The tell-tales of memory wake from their
slumberS-
hear the old song with its tender refrain
What pass on lies hid in those honey-voiced
numbers!
What perfume OF youth in each exquisite
strain
The home OF my childhood comes back as a
VISION
Hank! Hank! A soft chord from its song
haunted room
IT'S amorning of May,when the air is Elysian-
The Syringa III bud and the lilac in bloom -
We are clustered around the "Clementi" pia-
There were six'of us thcn--thcre are two of
us now
She is sinnying-the girl with the silver So
How The Lord of The Vally" was false 10
his VOW
Let Erin remember" the echoes are calling
Through The Vale Of Avoca" the waters
are rolled
"Thc Exile laments while the night-dews are
falling
The Morning of Life" dawns again as of
But ali! those warm loyc-songs of fresh ado
lescence!
Around us such raptures celestial they fung
That it seemed Us if Paradise breathed its
quintessence
Through the seraph-toned-lps OF the maiden
that sung!
Long hushed are the chords that my boyhood
enchanted
As when the smooth wave by the angel was
stirred,
Yet still with their music is memory haunted,
And oft in my dreams are their melodies
heard.
feel like the priest to his altar returning
The crowd that was kneeling no longer is
there,
The flame has died down, but the brands are
And sandal and, I and Cinnamon sweeten the air.
The veil for her bridal young Summer is
weaving
And Spring the last tear-drops of Maybe is
leaving
On the daisy of Burns and the shamrock Of
Moore.
How like, how unlike, rs we view them to-
gether,
The song of the ministries whose record VIC
One fresh as the breeze blowing over the
heather
One sweet as the breath from an odalisoue's
fan,
All, passion can glow mid palaces splender;
The cage does not alter the song of the bird,
And the curtain of silk has known whispers
as tender
As ever the poisoning hawthorn has heard.
No fear lest the step of the soft-slippered Gra-
Should fright the young Loves from their
warm little nest,
For the heart of Queen, under Jewels and
laces,
Beats time with the pulse in the peasant
girls breast!
Thrice welcome each Gift of kind Natures be-
stOWing
Her fountain needs little the goblet we hold;
Alike, when its musical waters are flowing,
The shell from the seaside the chalce OF
gold.
The twins OF the Tyre to her voices had lis
tened;
Both laid their best gifts upon Liberty's
shrine:
For Scotia's loved minstrel the holly-wrcath
gstened;
For Erin's the rose and the myrtle entwine.
And while the fresh blossoms of summer are
braided
For the sea-girdled stream silvered, lake
jcweled isle,
While her mantle of verdure is woven unfaded,
While Shannon and Litfey shall dimple and
smile,
The land where the staff of Saint Patrick was
planted
Where the shamrock grows green from the
cliffs to the shore,
Where the maidens are fair and the men are
undaunted,
Shall wreathe her bright harp with the gar
lands Of Moore!