Go where glory waits thee, — Thomas Moore

"Like a young eagle who has lent his plume To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom, See their own feathers pluckd to wing the dart Which rank corruption destines for their heart."

"Fly not yet; t is just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night And maids who love the moon."

"No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sun-flower turns on her god when he sets The same look which she turnd when he rose."

"Paradise itself were dim And joyless, if not shared with him!"

"Alas! how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied; That stood the storm when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea When heaven was all tranquillity."

"The bird let loose in Eastern skies, Returning fondly home, Neer stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam; But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way."