A Treasury of Irish Poetry in the English TongueStopford Augustus Brooke, Thomas William Rolleston Macmillan, 1900 - 578 sider |
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Side 2
... blood that Ireland has shed ; Then pull the shamrock from your hat , and throw it on the sod , - And never fear , ' twill take root there , tho ' under foot ' tis trod ! When law can stop the blades of grass from growin 2 BOOK I ...
... blood that Ireland has shed ; Then pull the shamrock from your hat , and throw it on the sod , - And never fear , ' twill take root there , tho ' under foot ' tis trod ! When law can stop the blades of grass from growin 2 BOOK I ...
Side 4
... blood they have taken innocent , for it they'll suffer sore , And the treatment that they gave to us that day at Turloughmore . The morning of their trial as they stood up in the dock , The words they spoke were feeling , the people ...
... blood they have taken innocent , for it they'll suffer sore , And the treatment that they gave to us that day at Turloughmore . The morning of their trial as they stood up in the dock , The words they spoke were feeling , the people ...
Side 22
... blood the scaffold flowed upon . Oh , had their spirits been wise , They might then realise Their freedom --but we drink to Mitchel that is gone , boys- gone . Here's the memory of the friends that are gone ! THE SHAN VAN VOCHT One of ...
... blood the scaffold flowed upon . Oh , had their spirits been wise , They might then realise Their freedom --but we drink to Mitchel that is gone , boys- gone . Here's the memory of the friends that are gone ! THE SHAN VAN VOCHT One of ...
Side 26
... blood , Ey'd each other askance and pronounced it was good . By the groans that ascend from your forefathers ' grave For their country thus left to the brute and the slave , Drive the demon of Bigotry home to his den , And where Britain ...
... blood , Ey'd each other askance and pronounced it was good . By the groans that ascend from your forefathers ' grave For their country thus left to the brute and the slave , Drive the demon of Bigotry home to his den , And where Britain ...
Side 27
... blood and tears ! Hunted thro ' thy native grounds , Or flung reward to human hounds , Each one pulled and tore his share , Heedless of thy deep despair . Hapless Nation hapless Land ! Heap of uncementing sand ! WILLIAM DRENNAN 27.
... blood and tears ! Hunted thro ' thy native grounds , Or flung reward to human hounds , Each one pulled and tore his share , Heedless of thy deep despair . Hapless Nation hapless Land ! Heap of uncementing sand ! WILLIAM DRENNAN 27.
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Almindelige termer og sætninger
ancient race ballad Ballinasloe beauty bonnie green woods born boys brave breath bright Céad míle fáilte Celtic Charles Gavan Duffy County County Tipperary dark dead dear death died dreams Dublin Duffy Eileen aroon English Erin eyes fáilte fair fairy Fenian friends Gaelic George Darley GERALD GRIFFIN girl golden gone grave hand heart Heaven hills hurroo Ireland Irish Irish poetry Karaman King Kottabos land light Limerick literature live lonely maid mountain Nation ne'er never night o'er pale passion poems poetic poetry poets prose Rapparees Rory rose round Samuel Ferguson Shan Van Vocht sigh sing Siubhail sleep smile soft Soggarth aroon song sorrow soul spirit stars sweet sword T. W. ROLLESTON tears thee There's thou thought Trinity College Turloughmore Twas verse voice wave weep Widow Machree wild wind woods of Killeevy young Young Ireland
Populære passager
Side 55 - 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 ! III.
Side 369 - Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights. They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her friends were all gone.
Side 47 - Music, oh how faint, how weak, Language fades before thy spell ! Why should Feeling ever speak, When thou canst breathe her soul so well ? Friendship's balmy words may feign, Love's are ev'n more false than they ; Oh ! 'tis only music's strain Can sweetly soothe, and not betray.
Side 499 - And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
Side 249 - All day long, in unrest, To and fro do I move. The very soul within my breast Is wasted for you, love! The heart ... in my bosom faints To think of you, my Queen, My life of life, my saint of saints, My Dark Rosaleen!
Side 225 - Tis but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near, The church where we were wed, Mary : I see the spire from here. But the graveyard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest; For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast.
Side 46 - Oft, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me : The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken ; The eyes that shone, Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken ! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me.
Side 250 - I could kneel all night in prayer, To heal your many ills! And one . . . beamy smile from you Would float like light between My toils and me, my own, my true, My Dark Rosaleen! My fond Rosaleen! Would give me life and soul anew, A second life, a soul anew, My Dark Rosaleen!
Side 73 - 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.
Side 54 - 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!