Thomas Moore, 1808, from Irish Melodies, vol. 1
Oh! think not my spirits are always as light,|
And as free from a pang as they seem to you now,
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night,
Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow.
No; life is a waste of wearisome hours
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns;
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers,
Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.
But send round the bowl, and be happy a while,
May we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here,
Than the tear that enjoyment may gild with a smile,
And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear.
2. The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows,
| Song Index | Home Page |