The hero of Ballinacrazy/Fly Not Yet

FLY NOT YET.

Fly not yet,’tis just the hour
When pleasure like the midnight flower,
That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
Begins to bloom for sons of night,
‘And maids who love the moon.
‘Twas just to bless these hours of shade
That beauty and the moon were made;
‘Tis then the soft attractions glowing,
Set the tides and goblets flowing
⁠⁠Oh stay! Oh stay!
Joy so seldom weaves a chain
Like this to-night, that oh! ‘tis pain
⁠To break its link so soon.

Fly not yet, the fount that’s played,
In days of old through Ammon’s shade,
Though icy cold by day it ran,
Yet, like the sons of mirth, began
⁠To burn, when night was near:
And so should woman’s heart and looks
By day be cold as winter brooke,
Nor kindle till the night returning,
Bring the genial hour for burning:
⁠⁠Oh stay! Oh stay!
When did morning ever break
And find such beaming eyes awak
⁠As those which sparkle here.