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Thomas Moore - Fairest! Put on a While
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Fairest! put on a while 
   These pinions of light I bring thee, 
And o`er thy own green isle 
   In fancy let me wing thee. 
Never did Ariel`s plume, 
   At golden sunset, hover 
O`er scenes so full of bloom 
   As I shall waft thee over. 

Fields, where the Spring delays 
   And fearlessly meets the ardour 
Of the warm Summer`s gaze, 
   With only her tears to guard her; 
Rocks, through myrtle boughs 
   In grace majestic frowning, 
Like some bold warrior`s brows 
   That Love hath just been crowning. 

Islets, so freshly fair, 
   That never hath bird come nigh them, 
But, from his course through air, 
   He hath been won down by them; —
Types, sweet maid, of thee, 
   Whose look, whose blush inviting, 
Never did Love yet see 
   From heaven, without alighting. 

Lakes, where the pearl lies hid,
   And caves, where the gem is sleeping, 
Bright as the tears thy lid 
   Lets fall in lonely weepin. 
Glens, where Ocean comes, 
   To `scape the wild wind`s rancour; 
And harbours, worthiest homes 
   Where Freedom`s fleet can anchor. 

Then, if, while scenes so grand, 
   So beautiful, shine before thee, 
Pride for thy own dear land 
   Should haply be stealing o`er thee, 
Oh, let grief come first, 
   O`er pride itself victorious — 
Thinking how man hath curst 
   What Heaven hath made so glorious.
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