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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE TELL-TALE LYRE, by THOMAS MOORE Poem Explanation Poet's Biography First Line: I've heard, there was in ancient days Last Line: In sympathies of angel love! Alternate Author Name(s): Little, Thomas | |||
I'VE heard, there was in ancient days A Lyre of most melodious spell; Twas heaven to hear its fairy lays, If half be true that legends tell. 'Twas play'd on by the gentlest sighs, And to their breath it breathed again In such entrancing melodies As ear had never drunk till then! Not harmony's serenest touch So stilly could the notes prolong; They were not heavenly song so much As they were dreams of heavenly song! If sad the heart, whose murmuring air Along the chords in languor stole, The soothings it awaken'd there Were eloquence from pity's soul! Or if the sigh, serene and light, Was but the breath of fancied woes, The string, that felt its airy flight, Soon whisper'd it to kind repose! And oh! when lovers talk'd alone, If, mid their bliss the Lyre was near, It made their murmurs all its own, And echoed notes that heaven might hear! There was a nymph, who long had loved, But dared not tell the world how well; The shades, where she at evening roved, Alone could know, alone could tell. 'Twas there, at twilight time, she stole So oft, to make the dear one blest, Whom love had given her virgin soul, And nature soon gave all the rest! It chanced that, in the fairy bower Where they had found their sweetest shed, This Lyre, of strange and magic power, Hung gently whispering o'er their head. And while, with eyes of mingling fire, They listen'd to each other's vow, The youth full oft would make the Lyre A pillow for his angel's brow! And while the melting words she breathed On all its echoes wanton'd round, Her hair, amid the strings enwreathed, Through golden mazes charm'd the sound! Alas! their hearts but little thought, While thus entranced they listening lay, That every sound the Lyre was taught Should linger long, and long betray! So mingled with its tuneful soul Were all their tender murmurs grown, That other sighs unanswer'd stole, Nor changed the sweet, the treasured lone. Unhappy nymph! thy name was sung To every passing lip that sigh'd; The secrets of thy gentle tongue On every ear in murmurs died! The fatal Lyre, by envy's hand Hung high amid the breezy groves, To every wanton gale that fann'd Betray'd the mystery of your loves! Yet, oh! -- not many a suffering hour, Thy cup of shame on earth was given; Benignly came some pitying Power, And took the Lyre and thee to heaven! There as thy lover dries the tear Yet warm from life's malignant wrongs, Within his arms, thou lov'st to hear The luckless Lyre's remember'd songs! Still do your happy souls attune The notes it learn'd, on earth, to move; Still breathing o'er the chords, commune In sympathies of angel love! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSHIP by THOMAS MOORE AFTER THE BATTLE (OF AUGHRIM) by THOMAS MOORE BLACK AND BLUE EYES by THOMAS MOORE ECHO [OR, ECHOES] by THOMAS MOORE LALLA ROOKH: PARADISE AND THE PERI by THOMAS MOORE LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM by THOMAS MOORE O, BREATHE NOT HIS NAME! by THOMAS MOORE OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD by THOMAS MOORE PRO PATRIA MORI by THOMAS MOORE |
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