The life of Thomas Moore. Centenary edDublin, 1879 - 256 oldal |
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admiration Anacreon ancient appeared Bannow bard beautiful breath bright called Catholic character Charlemont House Christian dark dear delight Dublin Edinburgh Review eloquence Emmet Erin expression eyes fame fancy father feeling flowers freedom gave genius glory hand happy harp hear heart heaven honour hope hour illustrious Ireland Irish Melodies Irishman land letter light literary living Lord Byron Lord Charlemont Lord Edward Lord Edward Fitzgerald Lord Moira lordship loud applause loud cheers memory ment mind Moore's music of Ireland native nature never noble O'Connell o'er occasion passages passed patriot pleasure poems poet poetical poetry present racter rose sacred saint satire scene Sheridan smile song soul speak spirit sweet talent thee THOMAS MOORE thou thought thousand guineas tion Tom Moore tribute Twas United Irishmen verse voice volume words writes wrote young
Népszerű szakaszok
52. oldal - When hastening fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam. But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way.
58. oldal - There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER'S' stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
43. oldal - He had lived for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him ; Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him.
43. oldal - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers around her are sighing : But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying.
60. oldal - And how felt he, the wretched man Reclining there, while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, — Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace. "There was a time," he said, in mild, Heart-humbled tones, "thou blessed child!
52. oldal - The friends who in our sunshine live, When winter comes, are flown, And he who has but tears to give Must weep those tears alone.
42. oldal - Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid : Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head. But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps...
53. oldal - How vain was their boasting! — the Lord hath but spoken, And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave? Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah has triumphed — His people are free!
60. oldal - There was a time," he said, in mild, Heart-humbled tones — " thou blessed child ! When, young and haply pure as thou, I look'd and pray'd like thee — but now — " He hung his head — each nobler aim And hope and feeling, which had slept From boyhood's hour, that instant came Fresh o'er him, and he wept — he wept ! Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! In whose benign, redeeming flow Is felt the first, the only sense Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. "There's a drop...
44. oldal - DEAR Harp of my country ! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, When proudly, my own Island Harp ! I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song...