Frances Anne Kemble

(27 November 1809 - 15 January 1893 / London, England)

To Thomas Moore, Esq. - Poem by Frances Anne Kemble

Here's a health to thee, Bard of Erin!
To the goblet's brim we will fill;
For all that to life is endearing,
Thy strains have made dearer still!
Wherever fond woman's eyes eclipse
The midnight moon's soft ray;
Whenever around dear woman's lips,
The smiles of affection play:
We will drink to thee, Bard of Erin!
To the goblet's brim we will fill,
For all that to life is endearing,
Thy strains have made dearer still!
Wherever the warrior's sword is bound
With the laurel of victory,
Wherever the patriot's brow is crowned
With the halo of liberty:
We will drink to thee, Bard of Erin!
To the goblet's brim we will fill;
For all that to life is endearing,
Thy strains have made dearer still!
Wherever the voice of mirth hath rung,
On the listening ear of night,
Wherever the soul of wit hath flung
Its flashes of vivid light:
We will drink to thee, Bard of Erin!
To the goblet's brim we will fill;
For all that to life is endearing,
In thy strains is dearer still!


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Poem Submitted: Monday, September 6, 2010



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