Thomas Moore

How calm, how beautiful comes on
The stilly hour, when storms are gone!
When warring winds have read more

How calm, how beautiful comes on
The stilly hour, when storms are gone!
When warring winds have died away,
And clouds, beneath the glancing ray,
Melt off, and leave the land and sea
Sleeping in bright tranquillity.

Where bastard Freedom waves
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.

Where bastard Freedom waves
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.

Go where glory waits thee;
But while fame elates thee,
Oh! still remember me.

Go where glory waits thee;
But while fame elates thee,
Oh! still remember me.

There written all
Black as the damning drops that fall
From the denouncing Angel's pen,
read more

There written all
Black as the damning drops that fall
From the denouncing Angel's pen,
Ere Mercy weeps them out again.

Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop
About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food
Whose read more

Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop
About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food
Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood;
And those that under Araby's soft sun
Build their high nests of budding cinnamon.