'TWAS one of those dreams, that by music are brought, <br />Like a bright summer haze, o'er the poet's warm thought -- <br />When, lost in the future, his soul wanders on, <br />And all of this life, but its sweetness, is gone. <br /> <br />The wild notes he heard o'er the water were those <br />He had taught to sing Erin's dark bondage and woes, <br />And the breath of the bugle now wafted them o'er <br />From Dinis' green isle, to Glena's wooded shore. <br /> <br />He listen'd -- while, high o'er the eagle's rude nest, <br />The lingering sounds on their way loved to rest; <br />And the echoes sung back from their full mountain quire, <br />As if loath to let song to enchanting expire. <br /> <br />It seem'd as if every sweet note that died here <br />Was again brought to life in some airier sphere, <br />Some heaven in those hills, where the soul of the strain <br />That had ceased upon earth was awaking again! <br /> <br />Oh forgive, if, while listening to music, whose breath <br />Seem'd to circle his name with a charm against death, <br />He should feel a proud spirit within him proclaim, <br />"Even so shalt thou live in the echoes of Fame: <br /> <br />"Even so, though thy memory should now die away, <br />'Twill be caught up again in some happier day, <br />And the hearts and the voices of Erin prolong, <br />Through the answering Future, thy name and thy song."<br /><br />Thomas Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/twas-one-of-those-dreams/
