Maxioms by Thomas Moore
Oh, colder than the wind that freezes
Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd,
Is that congealing read more
Oh, colder than the wind that freezes
Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd,
Is that congealing pang which seizes
The trusting bosom, when betray'd.
To Greece we give our shining blades.
To Greece we give our shining blades.
How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night,
When, roused by lute or horn, she read more
How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night,
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away, o'er lawns and lakes,
Goes answering light.
Oh, for a tongue to curse the slave
Whose treason, like a deadly blight,
Comes o'er the read more
Oh, for a tongue to curse the slave
Whose treason, like a deadly blight,
Comes o'er the councils of the brave,
And blasts them in their hour of might!
Like Dead Sea fruit that tempts the eye,
But turns to ashes on the lips!
Like Dead Sea fruit that tempts the eye,
But turns to ashes on the lips!
