The O'Neiles; Or, Second Sight

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Provost & Company, 36, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden., 1870 - 257 Seiten
 

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Seite 17 - THE DAY IS DONE. THE day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, 'That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Seite 10 - SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
Seite 63 - Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green : One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain...
Seite 195 - Cowards die many times before their deaths ; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear ; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come, when it will come.
Seite 47 - or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door — Darkness there and nothing more.
Seite 63 - No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way. Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away, thy children leave the land.
Seite 175 - That in the antique Oratory shook His bosom in its solitude ; and then — As in that hour— a moment o'er his face The tablet of unutterable thoughts Was traced...
Seite 142 - Yet, all its sad recollections suppressing, One dying wish my lone bosom can draw : Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing ! Land of my forefathers ! Erin go bragh ! Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion, Green be thy fields, — sweetest isle of the ocean ! And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion, — Erin mavournin — Erin go bragh !* * Ireland my darling,— Ireland for ever.
Seite 126 - But the old mansion, and the accustom'd hall, And the remember'd chambers, and the place, The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shade, All things pertaining to that place and hour, And her who was his destiny, came back And thrust themselves between him and the light : What business had they there at such a time?
Seite 250 - Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene Her purest of crystal and brightest of green; 'twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill, Oh!

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