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admiration appeared battle bear beautiful bless blood brave bright brother called close dark dead dear death deep devoted died Dublin early earth Eire Erin eyes fair faith fall fame Father feel field fire flowers France freedom friends gave gifted give glory grave green hand hear heart Heaven hills hope hour Ireland Irish John Kilkenny labor land leave light lines literary live looked Lord Lover memory mind morning mother mountain native nature never night o'er once passed patriot poem poet poetry proud published rest rose round shore sigh smile song soon soul sound spirit stand strong sweet sword tears tell thee thou thought true verse voice wave wild writing wrote young youth
Seite 407 - 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.
Seite 408 - 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.
Seite 174 - Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Seite 179 - 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...
Seite 178 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
Seite 410 - There is a stone there, that whoever kisses, Oh! he never misses to grow eloquent. 'Tis he may clamber to a lady's chamber, Or become a member of parliament: A clever spouter he'll sure turn out, or An out-and-outer, "to be let alone," Don't hope to hinder him, or to bewilder him; Sure he's a pilgrim from the Blarney stone!
Seite ix - I must do it justice : it was a complete system, full of coherence and consistency ; well digested and well composed in all its parts. It was a machine of wise and elaborate contrivance ; and as well fitted for the oppression, impoverishment, and degradation of a people, and the debasement, in them, of human nature itself, as ever proceeded from the perverted ingenuity of man.
Seite 338 - And I have heard songs in the Silence That never shall float into speech ; And I have had dreams in the Valley Too lofty for language to reach. And I have seen Thoughts in the Valley — Ah ! me, how my spirit was stirred ! And they wear holy veils on their faces, Their footsteps can scarcely be heard : They pass through the Valley like Virgins, Too pure for the touch of a word...
Seite 178 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet or in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Seite 179 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring : And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.