The Lyrics of IrelandSamuel Lover Houlston and Wright, 1858 - 360 páginas |
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Página xix
... Bard to the Clans of Wicklow Ode to the Minstrel O'Connellan Oh , don't you remember ? .. Oh ! Erin ! Oh ! once we were illigant People Oh , tell me , sweet Kate . Oh yield , fair Lids ... O , Judith , my dear Old Times O , Memory One ...
... Bard to the Clans of Wicklow Ode to the Minstrel O'Connellan Oh , don't you remember ? .. Oh ! Erin ! Oh ! once we were illigant People Oh , tell me , sweet Kate . Oh yield , fair Lids ... O , Judith , my dear Old Times O , Memory One ...
Página xxiii
... Bard , O Time , discover Page Samuel Lover 189 ( From the Irish ) 193 L. N. F. 161 Moore 55 Andrew Cherry 340 Campbell .. 212 Samuel Lover 49 Dean Swift .... 196 280 172 234 ...... Oliver Goldsmith Miss Herbert Clarence Mangan 182 ...
... Bard , O Time , discover Page Samuel Lover 189 ( From the Irish ) 193 L. N. F. 161 Moore 55 Andrew Cherry 340 Campbell .. 212 Samuel Lover 49 Dean Swift .... 196 280 172 234 ...... Oliver Goldsmith Miss Herbert Clarence Mangan 182 ...
Página 2
... the laurel crown , looks back with a tenderness , that still moves him , to his first address to the " girl of his soul . " - Let Moore speak in eloquent evidence . " Though the bard to purer fame may soar , 2 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS .
... the laurel crown , looks back with a tenderness , that still moves him , to his first address to the " girl of his soul . " - Let Moore speak in eloquent evidence . " Though the bard to purer fame may soar , 2 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS .
Página 3
Samuel Lover. " Though the bard to purer fame may soar , When wild youth's past ; Though he win the wise , who frown'd before , To smile at last ; He'll never meet A joy so sweet , In all his noon of fame , As when first he sung to ...
Samuel Lover. " Though the bard to purer fame may soar , When wild youth's past ; Though he win the wise , who frown'd before , To smile at last ; He'll never meet A joy so sweet , In all his noon of fame , As when first he sung to ...
Página 10
... bards of Ireland . When we consider that he lost his sight at the age of eighteen , from smallpox , which bereft him of the use of books , it is sur- prising what an air of literary accomplishment , and how much refinement pervade his ...
... bards of Ireland . When we consider that he lost his sight at the age of eighteen , from smallpox , which bereft him of the use of books , it is sur- prising what an air of literary accomplishment , and how much refinement pervade his ...
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Términos y frases comunes
admirable Avondhu ballad Ballyhaunis bard beauty Blarney bosom boys brave bright bumper called celebrated CHARLES LEVER charming cheek Cuckoo Curran cushla ma chree dark dark Rosaleen darling dear drink Dublin e'er Eileen aroon Erin fair fame Farewell father flowers fond Garryowen GERALD GRIFFIN girl give glory gra-ma-chree green heart heaven honour Ireland Irish Melodies Irish Volunteers JOHN BANIM John Philpot Curran Kilkenny King lady LADY MORGAN land lines Lochaber Lord lyric maid minstrel Moore morning mountain Music of Ireland native ne'er never night o'er Ochone poet rose round SAMUEL FERGUSON SAMUEL LOVER Savourneen deelish Says the Shan Scotland Shan Van Vogh Sheridan sigh sing sleep smile Soggarth aroon song sorrow soul sung sweet tears thee There's thine thou Translated true Twas verse whiskey Widow Machree wild wine words young
Pasajes populares
Página 171 - I've heard bells tolling Old Adrian's mole in, Their thunder rolling From the Vatican ; And cymbals glorious Swinging uproarious In the gorgeous turrets Of Notre Dame. But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly: Oh, the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
Página 199 - Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, His first, best country, ever is at home.
Página 4 - ONE day I wrote her name upon the strand ; But came the waves, and washed it away : Agayne, I wrote it with a second hand ; But came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray. Vayne man, sayd she, that doest in vaine assay A mortall thing so to immortalize ; For I my selve shall lyke to this decay, And eke my name bee wyped out lykewize. Not so...
Página 7 - The corn was springin' fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high, And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary, The day is bright as then, The lark's loud song is in my ear, And the corn is green again; But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your breath, warm on my cheek: And I still keep list'nin' for the words You never more will speak.
Página 65 - SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she think not well of me, What care I how fair she be?
Página 79 - I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize ; Now to the maid who has none, sir : Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes, And here's to the nymph with but one, sir.
Página 122 - So lovely the Widow Malone. Of lovers she had a full score, or more, And fortunes they all had galore, in store; From the minister down to the clerk of the crown, All were courting the Widow Malone, ohone! All were courting the Widow Malone. But so modest was Mistress Malone, 'twas known, That no one could see her alone, ohone!
Página 13 - Go, forget me — why should sorrow O'er that brow a shadow fling ? Go, forget me — and to-morrow Brightly smile and sweetly sing. Smile — though I shall not be near thee ; Sing — though I shall never hear thee ; May thy soul with pleasure shine Lasting as the gloom of mine ! Go, forget me, etc.
Página 247 - Woe and pain, pain and woe, Are my lot, night and noon, To see your bright face clouded so, Like to the mournful moon. But yet will I rear your throne Again in golden sheen ; 'Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen...
Página 246 - O, MY Dark Rosaleen, Do not sigh, do not weep ! The priests are on the ocean green, They march along the deep. There's wine from the royal Pope, Upon the ocean green ; And Spanish ale shall give you hope, My Dark Rosaleen...