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Arranmore Babylon bard battle of Clontarf beam beauty blest bliss bloom bowers breath bright brow chain charm children of Israel cloud cold dark dear death dream dwell earth Edward Hudson Emmet Erin Erin's eyes fade fair fame feel flowers Freedom friends Glendalough gloom glory grave Harp hath heart heaven hope hour Innisfail Ireland Irish Irish Harp Isaiah lx isle leave life's light lips look look'd Lord Lord Edward Fitzgerald lov'd lyre Melodies Moab morning Mountain Sprite ne'er never night Nora Creina o'er once pleasure pleasure's remember Robert Emmet round shame Shamrock shed shine sigh silence sing sleep smile song sorrow soul sparkled spirit star steal sunny sunshine sweet sword Tarshish tears thee thine thou art thought thro turn'd Twas voice warm wave weep where'er wing young youth
58. oldal - 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.
6. oldal - 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.
25. oldal - BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away, Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still.
47. oldal - She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, Every note which he loved awaking — Ah '. little they think, who delight in her strains, How the heart of the minstrel is breaking...
11. oldal - 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 ! no, — it was something more exquisite still.
148. oldal - THIS world is all a fleeting show, For man's illusion given; The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow, — There's nothing true but Heaven! And false the light on glory's plume, As fading hues of even; And love, and hope, and beauty's bloom Are blossoms gathered for the tomb, — There's nothing bright but Heaven! Poor wanderers of a stormy day, From wave to wave we're driven, And fancy's flash and reason's ray Serve but to light the troubled way, — There's nothing calm...
104. oldal - How sweet the answer Echo makes To Music at night When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, And far away o'er lawns and lakes Goes answering light ! Yet Love hath echoes truer far And far more sweet Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star, Of horn or lute or soft guitar The songs repeat. 'Tis when the sigh, — in youth sincere And only then, The sigh that 's breathed for one to hear— Is by that one, that only Dear Breathed back again.
168. oldal - The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, the fir-tree, the pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary ; and I will make the place of my feet glorious.
60. oldal - THE minstrel 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...