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English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “Irish Melodies”. 9. Though the Last Glimpse of Erin With Sorrow I See. Томас Мур.






Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)

From “Irish Melodies”. 9. Though the Last Glimpse of Erin With Sorrow I See

THOUGH the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see,
Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me;
In exile thy bosom shall still be my home,
And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam.

To the gloom of some desert or cold rocky shore,
Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no more,
I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough wind
Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind.

And I’ll gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it wreathes,
And hang o’er thy soft harp, as wildly it breathes;
Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear
One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.

Thomas Moore’s other poems:

  1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 57
  2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 59
  3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 64
  4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 62
  5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 61




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