THOMAS MOORE

��58?. At the Mid Hour of Night

A T the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly

• • To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in

thine eye ;

And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there, And tell me our love is remembered even in the sky.

Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear, When our voices commingling breathed like one on the ear ; And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, I think, O my love ! 'tis thy voice from the Kingdom

of Souls Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.

��M

��EDWARD THURLOW, LORD THURLOW May

AY ! queen of blossoms,

And fulfilling flowers, With what pretty music

Shall we charm the hours ? Wilt thou have pipe and reed, Blown in the open mead ? Or to the lute give heed In the green bowers ?

Thou hast no need of us,

Or pipe or wire; Thou hast the golden bee

RipenM with fire;

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