Thomas Moore

How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night,
When, roused by lute or horn, she read more

How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night,
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away, o'er lawns and lakes,
Goes answering light.

Oh, for a tongue to curse the slave
Whose treason, like a deadly blight,
Comes o'er the read more

Oh, for a tongue to curse the slave
Whose treason, like a deadly blight,
Comes o'er the councils of the brave,
And blasts them in their hour of might!

Where bastard Freedom waves
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.

Where bastard Freedom waves
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.

All that's bright must fade,--
The brightest still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made
read more

All that's bright must fade,--
The brightest still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made
But to be lost when sweetest.

One morn a Peri at the gate
Of Eden stood disconsolate.

One morn a Peri at the gate
Of Eden stood disconsolate.