oh blame not the bard - if he fly to the bowers
where pleasure lies carelessly smiling at fame
he was born for much more and in - happier hours
his soul might have burnt with a holier flame
the string that now languishes loose - over the lyre
might have bent the proud bow of a warrior's dart
and the lip which now breathes - but the song of desire
might have poured the full tide - of a patriot's heart
[...]
Thomas Moore, in Irish Melodies, in Elegant Extracts [...], in Caves do Vinho do Porto, Gaia, 1963 & ss..
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