IT IS NOT THE TEAR. It is not the tear at this moment shed, When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, That can tell how beloved was the friend that's fled, Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him. 'Tis the tear, through many a long day wept, 'Tis life's whole path o'ershaded; 'Tis the one remembrance, fondly kept, When all lighter griefs have faded. Thus, his memory, like some holy light Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them, For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright, When we think how he lived but to love them. And, as fresher flowers the sod perfume, Where buried saints are lying, So our hearts shall borrow a sweetening bloom, From the image he left there in dying! Moore. THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 'Tis the last rose of summer All her lovely companions I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! Thy leaves o'er the bed So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from Love's shining circle The gems drop away. When true hearts lie withered, And fond ones are flown, O who would inhabit This bleak world alone? Moore. OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT. Oft in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends, so linked together, I've seen around me fall, Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. Moore. THOSE EVENING BELLS. Those evening bells! those evening bells! Those joyous hours are passed away; And so 'twill be when I am gone; PEACE BE AROUND THEE. Peace be around thee, wherever thou rov'st; Come smiling around thy sunny way! The smiles that follow shine more brightly. May Time, who sheds his blight o'er all, They shall not crush one flower beneath. As half in shade and half in sun May that side the sun's upon, Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances ! Moore. |