To Thomas Moore

MY boat is on the shore,

And my bark is on the sea;

But, before I go, Tom Moore,

Here’s a double health to thee!

Here’s a sigh to those who love me,

And a smile to those who hate;

And, whatever sky’s above me,

Here’s a heart for every fate.

Though the ocean roar around me,

Yet it still bear me on:

Though a desert should surround me,

It hath springs that may be won.

Were’t the last drop in the well,

As I gasp’d upon the brink,

Ere my fainting spirit fell,

’Tis to thee that I would drink.

With that water, as this wine,

The libation I would pour

Should be—peace with thine and mine,

And a health to thee, Tom Moore.