The Poets and Poetry of Ireland: With Historical and Critical Essays and Notes

James R. Osgood, 1881 - 444 pagina's

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Pagina 243 - 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. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning, — By the struggling moonbeams' misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Pagina 237 - I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them; Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead.
Pagina 245 - The time would e'er be o'er, — And I on thee should look my last, And thou shouldst smile no more ! And still upon that face I look, And think 'twill smile again ; And still the thought I will not brook, That I must look in vain ! But when I speak, thou dost not say What thou ne'er left'st...
Pagina 434 - My blessin' and my pride; There's nothing left to care for now. Since my poor Mary died. Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on, When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm's young strength was gone; There was comfort ever on your lip, And the kind look on your brow, — I bless you, Mary, for that same, Though you cannot hear me now. I thank you for the patient smile When your heart was fit to break, — When the hunger pain was gnawin...
Pagina 52 - All day long, in unrest, To and fro do I move. The very soul within my breast Is wasted for you, love! The heart ... in my bosom faints To think of you, my Queen, My life of life, my saint of saints, My Dark Rosaleen!
Pagina 234 - 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.
Pagina 391 - The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe, As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster, slow Sinks on the anvil: — all about the faces fiery grow; 'Hurrah!' they shout, 'leap out — leap out;' bang, bang the sledges go: Hurrah!
Pagina 238 - Boy to the war is gone, In the ranks of death you'll find him : His father's sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him. — " Land of song !" said the warrior-bard, " Though all the world betrays thee, " One sword, at least thy rights shall guard, " One faithful harp shall praise thee...
Pagina 246 - And still upon that face I look, And think 'twill smile again ; And still the thought I will not brook That I must look in vain ! But when I speak — thou dost not say What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ; ' And now I feel, as well I may, Sweet Mary ! thou art dead ! If thou wouldst stay e'en as thou art, All cold and all serene- I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been...
Pagina 234 - Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn, Thy tears shall efface their decree ; For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, I have been but too faithful to thee. With thee were the dreams of my earliest love ; Every thought of my reason was thine ; In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above, Thy name shall be mingled with mine.

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