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Thomas Moore - There Are Sounds of Mirth
Work rating: Low

There are sounds of mirth in the night-air ringing, 
   And lamps from every casement shown; 
While voices blithe within are singing, 
   That seem to say "Come," in every tone. 
Ah! once how light, in Life`s young season, 
   My heart had leap`d at that sweet lay; 
Nor paused to ask of greybeard Reason 
   Should I the syren call obey. 

And, see — the lamps still livelier glitter, 
   The syren lips more fondly sound; 
No, seek, ye nymphs, some victim fitter 
   To sink in your rosy bondage bound. 
Shall a bard,whom not the world in arms, 
   Could bend to tyranny`s rude countroul, 
Thus quail, at sight of woman`s charms, 
   And yield to a smile his freeborn soul? 

Thus sung the sage, while, slyly stealing, 
   The nymphs their fetters around him cast, 
And — their laughing eyes, the while, concealing — 
   Led Freedom`s Bard their slave at last. 
For the Poet`s heart, still prone to loving, 
   Was like that rock of the Druid race,
Which the gentlest touch at once set moving, 
   But all earth`s power couldn`t cast from its base.
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