Irish Come-all-ye's: A Repository of Ancient Irish Songs and Ballads--comprising Patriotic, Descriptive, Historical and Humorous Gems, Characteristic of the Irish Race

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L. Lipkind, 1901 - Всего страниц: 160

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Стр. 10 - 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.
Стр. 24 - 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.
Стр. 123 - But when you come down with your pence, For a slice of their scurvy religion, I'll leave it to all men of sense, But you, my good friend, are the pigeon.
Стр. 123 - GENUS a better discerning. Let them brag of their heathenish gods, Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians, Their Quis, and their Quaes, and their Quods, They're all but a parcel of Pigeons.
Стр. 34 - King Louis madly cried : To death they rush, but rude their shock — not unavenged they died. On through the camp the column trod — King Louis turns his rein : " Not yet, my liege,
Стр. 96 - Her nose is straight and handsome, her eyebrows lifted up, Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth like a china cup, Her hair's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and so fine ; It's rolling down upon her neck, and gathered in a twine. The dance o...
Стр. 24 - But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter ! Flings o'er the Tiber Pealing solemnly. Oh ! the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
Стр. 96 - I'd hardly see the rest.. Be what it may the time of day, the place be where it will, Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before me still. Her eyes like mountain water that's flowing on a rock, How clear they are, how dark they are ! and they give me many a shock. Red rowans warm in sunshine and wetted with a show'r, Could ne'er express the charming lip that has me in its pow'r.
Стр. 156 - I'M sittin' on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side On a bright May mornin' long ago, When first you were my bride. The corn was springin' fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high, And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary, The day is bright as then, The lark's loud song is in my ear, And the corn is green again; But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your breath, warm on my cheek: And I still keep list'nin' for the words...
Стр. 49 - The dust of some is Irish earth, Among their own they rest, And the same land that gave them birth Has caught them to her breast; And we will pray that from their clay Full many a race may start Of true men, like you, men, To act as brave a part. They rose in dark and evil days To right their native land; They kindled here a living blaze That nothing shall withstand.

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