Poem of the Day

There have been many recorded versions of this song, and I really like it. Though written by an Irishman about the Irish Rebellion, it was popular during the U.S. Civil War, in which many Irish participated (on both sides).

The Minstrel Boy
By Thomas Moore

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone
In the ranks of death you will find him;
His father’s sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;
“Land of Song!” said the warrior bard,
“Tho’ all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!”

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman’s chain
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov’d ne’er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;
And said “No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and brav’ry!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slavery!”

The Minstrel Boy will return, we pray;
When we hear the news, we all will cheer it,
The minstrel boy will return one day,
Torn perhaps in body, not in spirit.
Then may he play on his harp in peace,
In a world such as Heaven intended,
For all the bitterness of man must cease,
And ev’ry battle must be ended.

I think this may have been in the crossword puzzle recently, but I also came across it in A Poem a Day.

Oft in the Stilly Night
By Thomas Moore

Oft, in the stilly night,
  Ere Slumber’s chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
  Of other days around me;
     The smiles, the tears,
     Of boyhood’s years,
   The words of love then spoken;
     The eyes that shone,
     Now dimmed and gone,
   The cheerful hearts now broken!
Thus, in the stilly night,
  Ere Slumber’s chain hath bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light
  Of other days around me.

When I remember all
  The friends, so linked together,
I’ve seen around me fall
  Like leaves in wintry weather:
     I feel like one,
     Who treads alone
   Some banquet-hall deserted,
     Whose lights are fled,
     Whose garlands dead,
   And all but he departed!
Thus, in the stilly night,
  Ere Slumber’s chain hath bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
  Of other days around me.

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming…

Venetian Air
By Thomas Moore

Row gently here, my gondolier; so softly wake the tide,
That not an ear on earth may hear, but hers to whom we glide.
Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well as starry eyes to see,
Oh! think what tales ‘twould have to tell of wandering youths like me!
Now rest thee here, my gondolier; hush, hush, for up I go,
To climb yon light balcony’s height, while thou keep’st watch below.
Ah! did we take for Heaven above but half such pains as we
Take day and night for woman’s love, what angels we should be!