The Poems of Charles WolfeA. H. Bullen, 1903 - 61 sider |
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Side vii
... THE TERRACE PROUD THAT STRAIN AGAIN ! IT SEEMS TO TELL MY SPIRIT'S ON THE MOUNTAINS , WHERE THE BIRDS 92 14 15 17 22 25 26 • • 27 OH HAVE YOU NOT HEARD OF THE HARP THAT LAY . ANGELS OF GLORY ! CAME SHE NOT FROM You ?
... THE TERRACE PROUD THAT STRAIN AGAIN ! IT SEEMS TO TELL MY SPIRIT'S ON THE MOUNTAINS , WHERE THE BIRDS 92 14 15 17 22 25 26 • • 27 OH HAVE YOU NOT HEARD OF THE HARP THAT LAY . ANGELS OF GLORY ! CAME SHE NOT FROM You ?
Side 7
... tell her - Youth's blossom is blown , And that Beauty , the flower , must fade ; ( And sure if a lady can frown , She'll frown at the words I have said . ) III . The smiles of the rose - bud how fleet ! They come and as quickly they fly ...
... tell her - Youth's blossom is blown , And that Beauty , the flower , must fade ; ( And sure if a lady can frown , She'll frown at the words I have said . ) III . The smiles of the rose - bud how fleet ! They come and as quickly they fly ...
Side 25
... tell Of something like a joy departed ; I love its mourning accents well , Like voice of one , ah ! broken - hearted . II . That note that pensive dies away , And can each answering thrill awaken , It sadly , wildly , seems to say , Thy ...
... tell Of something like a joy departed ; I love its mourning accents well , Like voice of one , ah ! broken - hearted . II . That note that pensive dies away , And can each answering thrill awaken , It sadly , wildly , seems to say , Thy ...
Side 28
... tell thee , stranger , I have sung Where Tara's hundred harps have rung- And I have rode by Brien's side , Rolling back the Danish tide- And know each echo long and slow Of still - romantic Glendalough ; Though now my song but seldom ...
... tell thee , stranger , I have sung Where Tara's hundred harps have rung- And I have rode by Brien's side , Rolling back the Danish tide- And know each echo long and slow Of still - romantic Glendalough ; Though now my song but seldom ...
Side 29
... Tell the maid - I claim her mine- For Erin it is hers to shine ; And , that she still increase her store Of intellect and fancy's lore , That I demand from her a mind Solid , brilliant , strong , refined ; And that she prize a patriot's ...
... Tell the maid - I claim her mine- For Erin it is hers to shine ; And , that she still increase her store Of intellect and fancy's lore , That I demand from her a mind Solid , brilliant , strong , refined ; And that she prize a patriot's ...
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Abel Abel's Anster Archdeacon Russell authorship Beauty behold breeze Britain brother brow Burial of Sir Cain Captain Medwin's Charles Dickinson CHARLES WOLFE charm college friend copy darkness delight dread Dublin Dublin University e'en Edinburgh Annual edition Erin's father forget Gaul Gaul's gaze George Grierson glory glow grave hear heard heart Heaven horrors individuality of feeling INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR Jugurtha LAST ROSE letter lines look lyrical Marius mind Mortimer O'Sullivan mountain mournful ne'er never NOTE Numidia o'er pity poet poet's poetical poetry printed Rome ROSE OF SUMMER Royal Irish Academy Russell's Saragossa scarcely seems sing Sir John Moore sleep slumber smile song sorrow soul Spain spirit stanzas stern sweet Tagus talents tears thee thou hast thought tion trembling Trinity College Twas vengeance verses volume warm weep wild harp woes Wolfe Tone Wolfe's college Wolfe's poem written youth
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Side 2 - 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! 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.
Side 3 - The time would e'er be o'er, And I on thee should look my last, And thou shouldst smile no more ! And still upon that face I look, And think 'twill smile again ; And still the thought I will not brook That I must look in vain ! But when I speak — thou dost not say What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ; And now I feel, as well I may, Sweet Mary ! thou art dead...
Side 2 - But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. 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. 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!
Side 1 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. 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.
Side 4 - And still upon that face I look And think 'twill smile again; And still the thought I will not brook That I must look in vain ! But when I speak, thou dost not say What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ; And now I feel, as well I may. Sweet Mary, thou art dead ! If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, All cold and all serene, — I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been...
Side 2 - 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.
Side 4 - Sweet Mary, thou art dead! If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, All cold and all serene, I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been. While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have, Thou seemest still mine own; But there I lay thee in thy grave, — And I am now alone! I do not think, where'er thou art, Thou hast forgotten me; And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart In thinking, too, of thee; Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light ne'er seen before, As fancy never could...
Side 2 - 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.
Side 5 - 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.
Side 6 - Like the sun, thy presence glowing, Clothes the meanest things in light; And when thou, like him, art going, Loveliest objects fade in night. All things looked so bright about thee, That they nothing seem without thee; By that pure and lucid mind Earthly things were too, refined. Go, thou vision, wildly gleaming, Softly on my soul that fell; Go, for me no longer beaming — Hope and Beauty! fare ye well!