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1779–1852

CHORUS.

Thomas Moore

Blest be Love to whom we owe, All that's fair and bright below. Song was cold and Painting dim Till Song and Painting learned from him.

Soon as the scene had closed, a cheer Of gentle voices old and young Rose from the groups that stood to hear This tale of yore so aptly sung;

And while some nymphs in haste to tell The workers of that fairy spell How crowned with praise their task had been Stole in behind the curtained scene,

The rest in happy converse strayed — Talking that ancient love-tale o'er — Some to the groves that skirt the glade, Some to the chapel by the shore,

To look what lights were on the sea. And think of the absent silently. But soon that summons known so well Thro’ bower and hall in Eastern lands,

Whose sound more sure than gong or bell Lovers and slaves alike commands,— The clapping of young female hands, Calls back the groups from rock and field

To see some new-formed scene revealed;— And fleet and eager down the slopes Of the green glades like antelopes When in their thirst they hear the sound

Of distant rills, the light nymphs bound. Far different now the scene — a waste Of Libyan sands, by moonlight's ray; An ancient well, whereon were traced

The warning words, for such as stray Unarmed there, “Drink and away! " While near it from the night-ray screened, And like his bells in husht repose,

A camel slept — young as if weaned When last the star Canopus rose. Such was the back-ground's silent scene;— While nearer lay fast slumbering too

In a rude tent with brow serene A youth whose cheeks of wayworn hue And pilgrim-bonnet told the tale That he had been to Mecca's Vale:

Haply in pleasant dreams, even now Thinking the long wished hour is come When o'er the well-known porch at home His hand shall hang the aloe bough —

Trophy of his accomplished vow. But brief his dream — for now the call Of the camp-chiefs from rear to van, “Bind on your burdens," wakes up all

The widely slumbering caravan; And thus meanwhile to greet the ear Of the young pilgrim as he wakes, The song of one who lingering near

Had watched his slumber, cheerly breaks.

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CHORUS. · Thomas Moore · Poetry Cove