Thomas Moore

Bastard Freedom waves
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.

Bastard Freedom waves
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.

Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells!

Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells!

With what a deep devotedness of woe
I wept thy absence--o'er and o'er again
Thinking of thee, read more

With what a deep devotedness of woe
I wept thy absence--o'er and o'er again
Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain,
And memory, like a drop that, night and day,
Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!

Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour
When pleasure, like the midnight flower
That scorns the eye read more

Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour
When pleasure, like the midnight flower
That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
Begins to bloom for sons of night.

While mantling on the maiden's cheek
Young roses kindled into thought.

While mantling on the maiden's cheek
Young roses kindled into thought.