Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

          FROM this hour the pledge is given,

                From this hour my soul is thine:

          Come what will, from earth of heaven,

                Weal or woe, thy fate be mine.

          When the proud and great stood by thee,

                None dared thy rights to spurn;

          And if now they’re false and fly thee,

                Shall I, too, falsely turn?

          No; — whate’er the fire that try thee,

                In the same this heart shall burn.

          Though the sea, where thou embarkest,

                Offers now no friendly shore,

          Light may come where all looks darkest,

                Hope hath life, when life seems o’er.

          And of those past ages dreaming,

                When glory deck’d thy brow,

          Oft I fondly think, though seeming

                So fallen and clouded now,

          Thou’lt again break forth, all beaming —

                None so bright, so blest as thou!