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Behold the world's great wonder

Beloved, do you pity not my doleful case

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart

Beyond, beyond the mountain line

Bring from the craggy haunts of birch and pine .

But the rain is gone by, and the day's dying out in a splendour

Buttercups and daisies in the meadow

By memory inspired

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By the foot of old Keeper, beside the bohreen

By the shore a plot of ground

CAN the depths of the ocean afford you not graves

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Céad mile fáilte ! child of the Ithian

Cean duv deelish, beside the sea

Child in thy beauty; empress in thy pride

Chill the winter, cold the wind

Come! pledge again thy heart and hand

Count each affliction, whether light or grave.

Come, tell me, dearest mother, what makes my father stay

Crom Cruach and his sub-gods twelve

DARK angel, with thine aching lust

Dead heat and windless air

Dear maiden, when the sun is down

Deep in Canadian woods we've met

'Did they dare-did they dare, to slay Owen Roe O'Neill ?'.

Did ye hear of the Widow Malone

Do you remember, long ago.

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Dry be that tear, my gentlest love

EACH nation master at its own fireside

FAIR our fleet at Castle Sweyn.

Far are the Gaelic tribes and wide

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Far from the churchyard dig his grave

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Far out beyond our sheltered bay

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Farewell! the doom is spoken. All is o'er

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Fled foam underneath us and round us, a wandering and milky

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From what dripping cell, through what fairy glen

GET up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning-wheel
Gile Machree

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Girl of the red mouth

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Go not to the hills of Erin

Good men and true! in this house who dwell

Great fabric of oppression

Great woods gird me now around

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HAD I a heart for falsehood framed

Hail to our Keltic brethren, wherever they may be

Have you been at Carrick, and saw you my true-love there

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He came across the meadow-pass .

He grasped his ponderous hammer; he could not stand it more .
He planted an oak in his father's park
He said that he was not our brother.

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Heard'st thou over the Fortress wild geese flying and crying?
Heed her not, O Cuhoolin, husband mine
Here are the needs of manhood satisfied!

His locks are whitened with the snows of nigh a hundred years
Honey-sweet, sweet as honey smell the lilies.

How hard is my fortune.

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ΙΟΙ

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How sweet the answer Echo makes

How sweetly keen, how stirred the air!

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Hush! hear you how the night wind keens around the craggy reek .

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I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree.

I would I were on yonder hill.

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If sadly thinking, with spirits sinking

Image of beauty, when I gaze on thee

Inside the city's throbbing heart

I'd rock my own sweet childie to rest in a cradle of gold on a bough
of the willow

If I had thought thou could'st have died

If you searched the county o' Carlow, ay, and back again

If you would like to see the height of hospitality

Imageries of dreams reveal a gracious age

In a grey cave, where comes no glimpse of sky.

In a quiet water'd land, a land of roses.

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In the valley of Shanganagh, where the songs of skylarks teem
In the wet dusk silver sweet

Inside its zigzag lines the little camp is asleep

Is it thus, O Shane the haughty! Shane the valiant! that we meet.

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Italian lakes, transparent blue .

It was long past the noon when I pushed back my chair
It was on the Mount Citharon, in the pale and misty morn
It was the fairy of the place

JIST after the war, in the year 'Ninety-eight

Joy! joy! the day is come at last, the day of hope and pride

July the First, of a morning clear, one thousand six hundred and
ninety

LATE at morning's prime I roved

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Let all the fish that swim the sea

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Let the farmer praise his grounds

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Let them go by-the heats, the doubts, the strife

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Long they pine in weary woe-the nobles of our land

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My love, still I think that I see her once more

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My spirit's on the mountains, where the birds

My love to fight the Saxon goes

My name it is Hugh Reynolds, I come of honest parents

NIGHT closed around the conqueror's way

No, not more welcome the fairy numbers.
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note
Not beauty which men gaze on with a smile
Not every thought can find its words.

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Not far from old Kinvara, in the merry month of May

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Now let me alone, though I know you won't.

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Now Memory, false, spendthrift Memory.

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Now welcome, welcome, baby-boy unto a mother's fears
Now when the giant in us wakes and broods

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O MOTHER, mother, I swept the hearth, I set his chair and the white

O my daughter! lead me forth to the bastion on the north

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O Sigh of the sea, O soft lone-wandering sound

O thou whom sacred duty hither calls.

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O Unknown Belov'd One! to the perfect season

O Woman of the Piercing Wail

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O woman of Three Cows, agra! don't let your tongue thus rattle! .

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Of priests we can offer a charmin' variety

Oft in the stilly night

Oh! drimin donn dilis! the landlord has come

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Oh! fairer than the lily tall, and sweeter than the rose

Oh, how she plough'd the ocean, the good ship Cas le Down

Oh, Larry M'Hale he had little to fear

Oh, many a day have I made good ale in the glen.

Oh! my dark Rosaleen

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Oh, Paddy dear! an' did ye hear the news that's goin' round
Oh! rise up, Willy Reilly, and come along with me

Oh the French are on the sea

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Oh, then, tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall

Oh, up the brae, and up and up, beyont the fairy thorn.
Oh! who is that poor foreigner that lately came to town

Old Church, thou still art Catholic-e'en dream they as they may
On Carrigdhoun the heath is brown

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On the deck of Patrick Lynch's boat I sat in woeful plight.

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Once more, through God's high will and grace

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One touch there is of magic white

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Over here in England I'm helpin' wi' the hay.
Over hills and uplands high

O'er Provence breathing, nimble air

Over the dim blue hills

PHYLLIS and Damon met one day

Prince Baile of Ulster rode out in the morn

Proud of you, fond of you, clinging so near to you

RAISE the Cromlech high !

Righ Shemus he has gone to France and left his crown behind

Ringleted youth of my love

River of billows, to whose mighty heart

Roll forth, my song, like the rushing river

Rose o' the World, she came to my bed

Royal and saintly Cashel ! I would gaze

SAD is yonder blackbird's song

Sadly the dead leaves rustle in the whistling wind

Seek music in the wolf's fierce howl

Shall mine eyes behold thy glory, O my country

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So he trassed away dreamin' of Nora na Mo.
So Kings and Chiefs and Bards, in Eman of the Kings
So, my Kathleen, you're going to leave me
Solomon where is thy throne? It is gone in the wind
Some laws there are too sacred for the hand
Stern granite Gate of Wicklow, with what awe.

Sure, he's five months, an' he's two foot long.

Surely a Voice hath called her to the deep
Sweet is a voice in the land of gold

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