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As slow our ship her foamy track

Against the wind was cleaving,
Her trembling pennant still looked back

To that dear isle 't was leaving.
So loath we part from all we love,

From all the links that bind us; So turn our hearts as on we rove,

To those we 've left behind us.


When, round the bowl, of vanished years

We talk, with joyous seeming,-
With smiles that might as well be tears,

So faint, so sad their beaming ;
While memory brings us back again

Each early tie that twined us,
O, sweet 's the cup that circles then

To those we've left behind us.


And when, in other climes, we meet

Some isle, or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet,

And naught but love is wanting;
We think how great had been our bliss,

If Heaven had but assigned us
To live and die in scenes like this,

With some we've left behind us!


A Canadian Boat-Song
As travellers oft look back at eve,

When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon that light they leave

Still faint behind them glowing,–
So, when the close of pleasure's day

To gloom hath near consigned us,
We turn to catch one fading ray
Of joy that 's left behind us.

Thomas Moore.




FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.
Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near and the daylight 's past !


Why should we yet our sail unfurl?
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl ;
But, when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near and the daylight's past! 12

Utawa's tide! this trembling moon
Shall see us float over thy surges soon.

Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers,
Oh! grant us cool heavens and favoring airs.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near and the daylight 's past.

Thomas Moore.



Hear the sledges with the bells

Silver bells ! What a world of merriment their melody foretells !

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle

With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 14

Hear the mellow wedding bells,

Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony fore-

tells !
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,

And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats

The Bells

To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats

On the moon!
O, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells !

How it swells !

How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells

Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing

Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ! 35

Hear the loud alarum bells

Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells !

In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!

Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,

Out of tune,
In the clamorous appealing to the mercy of the

fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic

Leaping higher, higher, higher,

With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,

Now-now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.


Oh, the bells, bells, bells !
What a tale their terror tells

Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!

What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,

By the twanging,

And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows:
Yet the ear distinctly tells,

In the jangling,

And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the


Of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells-
In the clamour and the clangour of the bells ! 69


Hear the tolling of the bells

Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody

compels !
In the silence of the night,

How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!

For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats

Is a groan.

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