Irish Poets and NovelistsDenis Oliver Crowley P. J. Thomas, 1892 - 424 páginas |
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Página 28
... tell the Royal virgin that O'Moore , McHugh , O'Neill Will smite the faithless stranger while there's steel in Innisfail . The blood you shed shall only serve more deep revenge to nurse , And our hatred be as lasting as the tyranny we ...
... tell the Royal virgin that O'Moore , McHugh , O'Neill Will smite the faithless stranger while there's steel in Innisfail . The blood you shed shall only serve more deep revenge to nurse , And our hatred be as lasting as the tyranny we ...
Página 56
... tell How , ' neath the brave defenders , The storming party fell . Next day , before the sun had gilt The banner of our liege , The foe withdrew their army , And Ginkle raised the siege . No monuments are towering To honor Sarsfield's ...
... tell How , ' neath the brave defenders , The storming party fell . Next day , before the sun had gilt The banner of our liege , The foe withdrew their army , And Ginkle raised the siege . No monuments are towering To honor Sarsfield's ...
Página 60
... tell the years of toil , The waste of heart and brain , And the weary travail of the soul That have been borne in vain ! The sleepless sage some star hath sought , Till hope and sight grew dim- It shone for eyes that loved it not ; But ...
... tell the years of toil , The waste of heart and brain , And the weary travail of the soul That have been borne in vain ! The sleepless sage some star hath sought , Till hope and sight grew dim- It shone for eyes that loved it not ; But ...
Página 78
... Telling no more its power to save ; The true , the pure , the brave , the good , Falling at duty's post still shed A radiant light o'er plain and flood— Though " on the field of honor , dead . " Thus may we live , thus may we die , In ...
... Telling no more its power to save ; The true , the pure , the brave , the good , Falling at duty's post still shed A radiant light o'er plain and flood— Though " on the field of honor , dead . " Thus may we live , thus may we die , In ...
Página 92
... tell it in his own words : " I entered his room unannounced . I found him laid listlessly on a sofa , his useless limbs at full length , and his sunken cheeks resting on his pillow . I could not at once recognize the companion of my ...
... tell it in his own words : " I entered his room unannounced . I found him laid listlessly on a sofa , his useless limbs at full length , and his sunken cheeks resting on his pillow . I could not at once recognize the companion of my ...
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Irish Poets and Novelists: Profusely Illustrated and Embracing; Complete ... D. O. Crowley Sin vista previa disponible - 2015 |
Términos y frases comunes
admiration ballad Banim bard battle BATTLE OF BENBURB beauty bless blood bosom bright brother Celt Charles Gavan Duffy D'Alton Williams dark dead dear death Dowling Dublin Dunbui earth Erin Erin's eyes fair Hills fame Father Meehan Fitz-James O'Brien flag flowers friends Gael genius Gerald Gerald Griffin glory grave green Halpine hand hath heart Heaven Hills of Eire hope Hurrah Innisfail Ireland Irish James Clarence Mangan John Banim labor Limerick literary lonely look Lord Lover Mangan McGee memory morning mountain Munster Nation native land ne'er never night noble o'er once patriot brave poem poet poetry priest proud river Lee round Samuel Lover Shamrock shine shore sigh smile Soggarth Aroon song soul spirit sweet sword tears thee thine Thomas D'Arcy McGee thou thunder triumph verses voice wave wild writing wrote young Young Ireland youth
Pasajes populares
Página 407 - THE BELLS OF SHANDON With deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, In the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On this I ponder Where'er I wander And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee, — With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
Página 408 - 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.
Página 174 - Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Página 179 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow...
Página 178 - 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.
Página 410 - There is a stone there, that whoever kisses, Oh! he never misses to grow eloquent. 'Tis he may clamber to a lady's chamber, Or become a member of parliament: A clever spouter he'll sure turn out, or An out-and-outer, "to be let alone," Don't hope to hinder him, or to bewilder him; Sure he's a pilgrim from the Blarney stone!
Página ix - I must do it justice : it was a complete system, full of coherence and consistency ; well digested and well composed in all its parts. It was a machine of wise and elaborate contrivance ; and as well fitted for the oppression, impoverishment, and degradation of a people, and the debasement, in them, of human nature itself, as ever proceeded from the perverted ingenuity of man.
Página 338 - And I have heard songs in the Silence That never shall float into speech ; And I have had dreams in the Valley Too lofty for language to reach. And I have seen Thoughts in the Valley — Ah ! me, how my spirit was stirred ! And they wear holy veils on their faces, Their footsteps can scarcely be heard : They pass through the Valley like Virgins, Too pure for the touch of a word...
Página 178 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet or in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Página 179 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring : And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.