My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea; But before I go, Tom Moore, Here’s a double health to thee! Here’s a sigh to those who love me…

‘Sulpicia ad Cerinthum.’—Lib. iv. Cruel Cerinthus! does the fell di… Which racks my breast your fickle… Alas! I wish’d but to o’ercome th… That I might live for love and yo…

Hush’d are the winds, and still th… Not e’en a zephyr wanders through… Whilst I return, to view my Marga… And scatter flowers on the dust I… Within this narrow cell reclines h…

Marion! why that pensive brow? What disgust to life hast thou? Change that discontented air; Frowns become not one so fair. 'Tis not love disturbs thy rest,

Born in the garret, in the kitchen… Promoted thence to deck her mistre… Next for some gracious service une… And from its wages only to be gues… Raised from the toilette to the ta…

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other’s weal avail’d on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky. Twere vain to speak, to weep, to s…

These locks, which fondly thus ent… In firmer chains our hearts confin… Than all th’ unmeaning protestatio… Which swell with nonsense love ora… Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve…

If from great nature’s or our own… Of thought we could but snatch a c… Perhaps mankind might find the pat… But then 'twould spoil much good p… One system eats another up, and th…

This day, of all our days, has don… The worst for me and you:- 'Tis just six years since we were… And five since we were two.

Good plays are scarce: So Moore writes farce. The poet’s fame grows brittle— We knew before That Little’s Moore,