The Works of Thomas Moore: Irish melodies. National airs1823 |
Fra bogen
Side 141
... heart with such memories fill'd ! Like the vase , in which roses have once been distill'd- You may break , you may ruin the vase , if you will , But the scent of the roses will hang round it still . OH ! DOUBT ME NOT . AIR . - Yellow IRISH ...
... heart with such memories fill'd ! Like the vase , in which roses have once been distill'd- You may break , you may ruin the vase , if you will , But the scent of the roses will hang round it still . OH ! DOUBT ME NOT . AIR . - Yellow IRISH ...
Side 141
... heart with such memories fill'd ! Like the vase , in which roses have once been distill'd— You may break , you may ruin the vase , if you will , But the scent of the roses will hang round it still . OH ! DOUBT ME NOT . AIR . - Yellow IRISH ...
... heart with such memories fill'd ! Like the vase , in which roses have once been distill'd— You may break , you may ruin the vase , if you will , But the scent of the roses will hang round it still . OH ! DOUBT ME NOT . AIR . - Yellow IRISH ...
Almindelige termer og sætninger
adorn Æneid AIR.-The bard battle of Aberdeen battle of Clontarf beam beauty bless'd bliss bosom bowers breath bright calm chain charm clouds cold consecutive fifths dark dear death dream enharmonic ERIN's EVELEEN'S eyes fade fair fame farewell feel Fill the bumper flame fled flowers Folly friends gleam glory grief Harmodius and Aristogiton harp heart Heaven hope hour Ireland IRISH MELODIES isle Lady MORGAN LESBIA light lips live long a letter long Hath waked look'd looks lost Love's maiden mmmm moon morning music of Scotland Musical Modes ne'er night NORA CREINA Number o'er Olive of SPAIN once pleasure pleasure's proud remember river Shannon round rove saint SENANUS shade shame Shamrock of ERIN shed shine sleep smile sorrow soul spirit star steal sweet sword tear thee thine thought turn'd Twas warm wave weep where'er wild woman young youth zeal
Populære passager
Side 16 - THE harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed. Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, As if that soul were fled. — So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts, that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more.
Side 136 - Though all the world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee ! " The minstrel fell ! — but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under ; The harp he lov-ed ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder ; And said, " No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery ! Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They shall never sound in slavery...
Side 141 - Let Fate do her worst ; there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy ; Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Side 96 - Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me.
Side 163 - Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here ; Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. Oh ! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame ? I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. Thou hast...
Side 25 - Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve When we see them reflected from looks that we love. Sweet vale of Avoca ! how calm could I rest In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.
Side 88 - 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 even more false than they ; Oh ! 'tis only Music's strain Can sweetly soothe, and not betray!
Side 27 - That even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still. Dear Harp of my Country ! farewell to thy numbers, This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine.
Side 111 - He had lived for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him ; Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him.
Bibliografiske oplysninger
| Titel | The Works of Thomas Moore: Irish melodies. National airs Bind 4 af The Works of Thomas Moore: Comprending All His Melodies, Ballads, Etc., Never Before Published Without the Accompanying Music, Thomas Moore |
| Forfatter | Thomas Moore |
| udgivet | 1823 |
| Oprindeligt fra | University of Michigan |
| Digitaliseret | 7. jul 2005 |
| Eksporter henvisning | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |