Fairest! Put On Awhile.
By Thomas Moore
Fairest! put on awhile
These pinions of light I bring thee,
And o'er thy own green isle
In fancy let me wing thee.
Never did Ariel's plume,
At golden sunset hover
O'er scenes so full of bloom,
As I shall waft thee over.
Fields, where the Spring delays
And fearlessly meets the ardor
Of the warm Summer's gaze,
With only her tears to guard her.
Rocks, thro' myrtle boughs
In grace majestic frowning;
Like some bold warrior's brows
That Love hath just been crowning.
Islets, so freshly fair,
That never hath bird come nigh them,
But from his course thro' air
He hath been won down by them;--[1]
Types, sweet maid, of thee,
Whose look, whose blush inviting,
Never did Love yet see
From Heaven, without alighting.
Lakes, where the pearl lies hid,[2]
And caves, where the gem is sleeping,
Bright as the tears thy lid
Lets fall in lonely weeping.
Glens,[3] where Ocean comes,
To 'scape the wild wind's rancor,
And harbors, worthiest homes
Where Freedom's fleet can anchor.
Then, if, while scenes so grand,
So beautiful, shine before thee,
Pride for thy own dear land
Should haply be stealing o'er thee,
Oh, let grief come first,
O'er pride itself victorious--
Thinking how man hath curst
What Heaven had made so glorious!