Related:

• Who ran Through each mode of the lyre, and was master of all.
  -- Thomas Moore (1779-1852) -- On the Death of Sherida...
• There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet.
  -- Thomas Moore (1779-1852) -- The Meeting of the Wate...
• Good at a fight, but better at a play; Godlike in giving, but the devil to pay.
  -- Thomas Moore (1779-1852) -- On a Cast of Sheridan's Hand...
• Eyes of unholy blue. -- Thomas Moore (1779-1852) -- By that Lake whose gloomy Shore
• The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.
  What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly; it is dearness only that gives everything its value....
• All that 's bright must fade,-- The brightest still the fleete
  All that 's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest....
• And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, The maiden herself will steal after it soon.
  -- Thomas Moore (1779-1852) -- Ill Ome...
• Whose lines are mottoes of the heart, Whose truths electrify the sage.
  -- Thomas Campbell (1777-1844) -- Ode to the Memory of Bu...
• As still to the star of its worship, though clouded
  The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, So dark when I roam in this wintry world shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee....