Poetry of Moore

Thomas Moore
born 1780, died 1852

Forget Not The Field

Forget not the field where they perish'd,
The truest, the last of the brave,
All gone - and the bright hope we cherish'd
Gone with them, and quench'd in their grave!

Oh! could we from death but recover
Those hearts as they bounded before,
In the face of high heav'n to fight over
That combat for freedom once more; -

Could the chain for an instant be riven
Which Tyranny flung round us then
No, 'tis not in Man, nor in Heaven,
To let Tyranny bind it again!

But 'tis past - and, tho' blazon'd in story
The name of our Victor may be,
Accurst is the march of that glory
Which treads o'er the hearts of the free.

Far dearer the grave or the prison,
Illumed by one patriot name,
Than the trophies of all, who have risen
On Liberty's ruins to fame.

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