Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

          REMEMBER thee! yes, while there’s life in this heart,

          It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art;

          More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers,

          Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours.

          Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and free,

          First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea,

          I might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow,

          But oh! could I love thee more deeply tha now?

          No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs,

          But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons —

          Whose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird’s nest,

          Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast.