Historical and Descriptive Notices of the City of Cork and Its Vicinity

Forsideomslag
L.H. Bolster, 1839 - 412 sider
 

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Side 246 - There grows the wild ash, and a time-stricken willow Looks chidingly down on the mirth of the billow; As, like some gay child, that sad monitor scorning, It lightly laughs back to the laugh of the morning!
Side 246 - mid the thunder's deep rattle, Like clans from the hills at the voice of the battle ; And brightly the fire-crested billows are gleaming, And wildly from Mullagh the eagles are screaming. Oh ! where is the dwelling in valley, or highland, So meet for a bard as this lone little island?
Side 357 - Thou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor sedge, Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; Abrupt, and sheer, the mountains sink At once upon the level brink ; And just a trace of silver sand Marks where the water meets the land. Far in the mirror, bright and blue, Each hill's huge outline you may view ; Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare, Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake is there, Save where, of land, yon slender line Bears thwart the lake the scatter'd pine.
Side 247 - ... And send her strong shout over mountain and valley, The star of the west might yet rise in its glory, And the land that was darkest be brightest in story. I too shall be gone ; — but my name shall be spoken When Erin awakes and her fetters are broken. Some minstrel will come, in the summer eve's gleaming, When Freedom's young light on his spirit is beaming, And bend o'er my grave with a tear of emotion, Where calm...
Side 55 - 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.
Side 247 - Still, still in those wilds might young liberty rally, And send her strong shout over mountain and valley, The star of the west might yet rise in its glory, And the land that was darkest be brightest in story.
Side 56 - 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.
Side 367 - There is, certainly, something bordering on the sublime, in the oft-repeated echoes of the mountains, even when these are awoke, not by the deep-mouthed thunder, but by the sonorous bugle. The hills seem, alike, to call to each other ; and, although it would have puzzled Burke to trace the emotion of sublimity to terror, it may be traced to its truer origin — power ; for — when we hear the call repeated and answered, from mountain to mountain — sometimes loud, and without interval, and then...
Side 365 - They use to place him that shall be their captaine upon a stone, always reserved to that purpose, and placed commonly upon a hill. In some of which I have seen formed and engraven a foot, which they say was the measure of their first captaine's foot...
Side 36 - The vernacular of this region may be regarded as the ancient cockneyism of the mixed race who held the old city — Danes, English and Irish. It is a jargon, whose principal characteristic appears in the pronunciation of th, as exemplified in dis, dat, den, dey — this, that, then, they; and in the dovetailing of words as, 'kum our rish

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