The duke of Monmouth, by the author of 'The Munster festivals'.

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Стр. 132 - Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye Brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry! Few, few shall part, where many meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
Стр. 140 - The hero who drunk it There moulders in gloom, And the form of Maud Plunket Weeps over his tomb. The stranger who wanders Along the lone vale Still sighs while he ponders On that heavy tale : " Thus passes each pleasure That earth can supply — Thus joy has its measure — We live but to die !
Стр. 118 - Now the lusty spring is seen; Golden yellow, gaudy blue, Daintily invite the view: Everywhere on every green Roses blushing as they blow, And enticing men to pull, Lilies whiter than the snow, Woodbines of sweet honey full: All love's emblems, and all cry, "Ladies, if not plucked, we die.
Стр. 195 - Hesperus ! thou bringest all good things — Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer, To the young bird the parent's brooding wings, The welcome stall to the...
Стр. 139 - But oh, for the maiden Who mourns for that chief, With heart overladen And rending with grief! She sinks on the meadow In one morning-tide, A wife and a widow, A maid and a bride! Ye maidens attending, Forbear to condole ! Your comfort is rending The depths of her soul. True — true, 'twas a story For ages of pride; He died in his glory — But oh, he has died ! The war-cloak she raises All mournfully now, And steadfastly gazes Upon the cold brow.
Стр. 135 - The words are repeated, The bridal is done, The rite is completed — The two, they are one ; The vow, it is spoken All pure from the heart, That must not be broken Till life shall depart.
Стр. 207 - O, throw away the worser part of it. And live the purer with the other half.
Стр. 137 - O'er hill and o'er hollow, O'er mountain and plain, Up, true men, and follow ! Let dastards remain ! ' Farrah ! to the battle ! They form into line — The shields, how they rattle! The spears, how they shine ! Soon, soon, shall the foeman His treachery rue — On, burgher and yeoman, To die or to do...
Стр. 138 - Ye saw him at morning How gallant and gay ! In bridal adorning, The star of the day : Now weep for the lover — His triumph is sped, His hope it is over ! The chieftain is dead ! But...
Стр. 134 - THE joy-bells are ringing In gay Malahide, The fresh wind is singing Along the sea-side ; The maids are assembling With garlands of flowers, And the harpstrings are trembling In all the glad bowers. Swell, swell the gay measure ! Roll trumpet and drum...

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