The Popular Poets and Poetry of Ireland: And Choice Selections in Prose from the Works of Famous Irish Writers and OratorsR. Nagle, 1887 - Всего страниц: 720 |
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aiquil Arrah Ballyshannon Barny beauty Blarney Castle bless blood bosom brave breast breath bright brother brow Charles Gavan Duffy Cluricaune cold Cork County Cork dark dark Rosaleen dead dear death deep dream earth Erin eyes face fair fairy Farewell father flowers friends girl Glandore glen of Aherlow glory God save Ireland grave green hand hath hear heart Heaven hill holy hope hour Innisfail Ireland Irish John Hackett Kinsale land laugh light live lonely look Lord machree maid Mary morning mother mountain ne'er neath never night o'er once ould poor pride proud river Lee round shine shore sigh sing sleep smile song sorrow soul spirit sure sweet tears tell thee there's thine thou thought toil true twas voice wave weary weep wild wind young youth
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Стр. 433 - Slowly and sadly we laid him down From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory!
Стр. 267 - The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
Стр. 265 - Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green: One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain...
Стр. 266 - Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. Here, as I take my solitary rounds, Amidst thy tangling walks, and...
Стр. 433 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning, By the struggling moonbeams' misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Стр. 270 - The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; The pictures placed for ornament and use, The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose...
Стр. 270 - These simple blessings of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art; Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their firstborn sway; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined.
Стр. 267 - tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; No surly porter stands in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from.
Стр. 264 - E'en now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays Through tangled forests and through dangerous ways, Where beasts with man divided empire claim, And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim ; There, while above the giddy tempest flies, And all around distressful yells arise, The pensive exile, bending with his woe, To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, Casts a long look where England's glories shine, And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. Vain, very vain, my weary search to find That bliss...
Стр. 262 - Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, With daring aims irregularly great ; Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by...