THOMAS MOORE
Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear, When our voices commingling breathed like one on the earj And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, I think, O my love! 'tis thy voice from the Kingdom of
Souls Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.
��M
��EDWARD THURLOW, LORD THURLOW 595 May
rAY' queen of blossoms, And fulfilling flowers, With what pretty music
Shall we charm the hours? Wilt thou have pipe and reed, Blown in the open mead? Or to the lute give heed In the green bowers?
Thou hast no need of us,
Or pipe or wire; Thou hast the golden bee
Ripen'd with fire; And many thousand more Songsters, that thee adore, Filling earth's grassy floor
With new desire.
Thou hast thy mighty herds,
Tame and free-livers; Doubt not, thy music too
In the deep rivers;
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