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bard battle of Clontarf beam beauty beneath Bermuda bless blest bliss bloom blush bosom bower bowl breath bright brow calm chain charm cloud cold dark dear death Dismal Swamp dream e'er earth Erin ev'ry ev’ning eyes fade Farewell feel flowers girl Glendalough gloom glory green harp hath heart heaven hope hour Irish Irish poetry isle kiss Lady Lesbia light look’d looks lov’d Love's lover lute maid Merrily oh MINSTREL BOY morning ne'er never night Nora Creina nymph o'er once pleasure Red Branch remember roam roses round rove saint scribble—hy shade Shamrock shed shine sigh sing sleep slumber smile soft song sorrow soul sparkle spirit star steal sweet tears tell thee there's thine THOMAS MOORE thou art Tophet trembling Twas twill us’d Voice warm wave weep wild wind wings young youth
Стр. 151 - Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone ; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone ; No flower of her kindred, No rose-bud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh. I'll not leave thee, thou lone one ! To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them. Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may / follow, When friendships decay, And from Love's shining circle The gems drop...
Стр. 210 - O'ershadows all the earth and skies, Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes, That sacred gloom, those fires divine, So grand, so countless. Lord! are thine. When youthful spring around us breathes, Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh; And every flower the summer wreathes Is born beneath that kindling eye. Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine.
Стр. 211 - But Thou wilt heal that broken heart, Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part, Breathes sweetness out of woe.
Стр. 154 - Though all the world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee !" The minstrel fell ! but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under ! The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder ; And said, " No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery ! Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They shall never sound in slavery...
Стр. 101 - THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet, As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ; Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.
Стр. 171 - And are those follies going? And is my proud heart growing Too cold or wise For brilliant eyes Again to set it glowing? No, vain, alas! th' endeavour From bonds so sweet to sever; Poor Wisdom's chance Against a glance Is now as weak as ever.
Стр. 130 - Music ! oh, how faint, how weak, Language fades before thy spell ! Why should Feeling ever speak, When thou canst breathe her soul so well ? Friendship's balmy words may feign. Love's are even more false than they ; Oh ! 'tis only Music's strain Can sweetly soothe, and not betray!
Стр. 76 - There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER'S' stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
Стр. 210 - When night, with wings of starry gloom, O'ershadows all the earth and skies, Like some dark beauteous bird, whose plume Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes : That sacred gloom, those fires divine, So grand, so countless, Lord, are Thine.