I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree . PAGE 500 I would I were on yonder hill I'd rock my own sweet childie to rest in a cradle of gold on a bough If I had thought thou could'st have died If sadly thinking, with spirits sinking If you searched the county o' Carlow, ay, and back again If you would like to see the height of hospitality Image of beauty, when I gaze on thee 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. In Siberia's wastes. . In the valley of Shanganagh, where the songs of skylarks teem Is it thus, O Shane the haughty! Shane the valiant ! that we meet. 14 393 55 30 405 398 489 471 460 It was long past the noon when I pushed back my chair 542 It was on the Mount Citharon, in the pale and misty morn 548 It was the fairy of the place. 490 Italian lakes, transparent blue 554 JIST after the war, in the year 'Ninety-eight 193 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 Let them go by--the heats, the doubts, the strife Long they pine in weary woe-the nobles of our land My love, still I think that I see her once more My love to fight the Saxon goes 99 32 217 My spirit's on the mountains, where the birds 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 far from old Kinvara, in the merry month of May 5 54 45 49 53 511 558 400 Now let me alone, though I know you won't. 67 Now Memory, false, spendthrift Memory . 483 Now welcome, welcome, baby-boy unto a mother's fears 109 488 O MOTHER, mother, I swept the hearth, I set his chair and the white board spread 443 O my daughter! lead me forth to the bastion on the north 520 O Sigh of the sea, O soft lone-wandering sound O thou whom sacred duty hither calls O woman of Three Cows, agra! don't let your tongue thus rattle! . 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, many a day have I made good ale in the glen . Oh, Paddy dear! an' did ye hear the news that's goin' round. Oh the French are on the sea 399 140 518 70 98 250 2 6 22 Oh, then, tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall. Oh, up the brae, and up and up, beyont the fairy thorn On the deck of Patrick Lynch's boat I sat in woeful plight. On Euripides' plays we debated Once more, through God's high will and grace One touch there is of magic white Over here in England I'm helpin' wi' the hay. 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 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 So he trassed away dreamin' of Nora na Mo. . 228 274 511 538 452 556 339 The Princess with her women-train without the fort he found. 290 The silent bird is hid in the boughs. 407 The summer sun is falling soft on Carbery's hundred isles 121 The sun on Ivera 94 The top o' the mornin' to you, Mick 403 The waters-O the waters !-wild and glooming 512 The work that should to-day be wrought 127 Then Oberon spake the word of might 435 There are veils that lift, there are bars that fall There is a green island in lone Gougaune Barra. They heaved the stone; they heaped the cairn Those delicate wanderers Thou golden sunshine in the peaceful day! Through grief and through danger thy smile hath cheered my way 462 97 523 27 303 422 487 346 44 348 473 123 To Rathlin's isle I chanced to sail. 56 'Twas a balmy summer morning 260 'Twas beyond at Macreddin, at Owen Doyle's weddin' 406 'Twas but last night I traversed the Atlantic's furrow'd face 166 'Twas in green-leafy springtime 401 UP the airy mountain 370 Up the sea-saddened valley, at evening's decline 321 WATHERS O' MOYLE an' the white gulls flyin' 453 We hate the Saxon and the Dane. 118 Weary men, what reap ye?—‘Golden corn for the stranger 177 Were you ever in sweet Tipperary, where the fields are so sunny and What shall become of the ancient race When Erin first rose from the dark swelling flood When he who adores thee has left but the name Why is his name unsung, O minstrel host ? When you are old and grey and full of sleep Where is thy lovely perilous abode ? Where Sugarloaf with bare and ruinous wedge Where is my Chief, my Master, this bleak night, mavrone Where the huge Atlantic swings heavy water eastward White bird of the tempest! O beautiful thing! Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dreamı Who passes down the wintry street Who rideth thro' the driving rain Who took me from my mother's arms Why sitt'st thou by the shore PAGE 444 367 159 161 25 45 322 90 499 47 501 269- 463 447 ΤΟ 88 500 142 414 465 28 167 562 With heaving breast the fair-haired Eileen sang Within the dim museum room Yes! mourn the soul, of high and pure intent 514 Yes, this is Wicklow; round our feet 539 Yon old house in moonlight sleeping 563 You lads that are funny, and call maids your honey 18 You were always a dreamer, Rose-red Rose 442 68 Your proud eyes give me their wearied splendour 551 |