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AIR.—The Bard beam beauty believe bliss bosom break breath bright bring charm close cloud cold dark dear death deep dream earth Erin eyes fade fair fall farewell feel flowers friends give glory gold golden gone grave green hand happy harp hath heart Heaven hope hour Ireland Irish leaves less light lips live looks lost Love's meet MELODIES morning ne'er never night NUMBER o'er once pain pass pleasure pure remember rest returning rose round shade shed shine shore sigh sing sleep smile song soon sorrow soul sparkled spirit star summer sweet tear tell thee thine thou thought truth Twas wake warm waters waves weep wherever wild wind young youth
16. 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.
136. oldal - Though all the world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee ! " The minstrel fell ! — but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under ; The harp he lov-ed ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder ; And said, " No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery ! Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They shall never sound in slavery...
133. 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.
43. oldal - Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree ? Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, If he kneel not before the same altar with me...
164. oldal - Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame? I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.
88. oldal - Music ! oh, how faint, how weak, Language fades before thy spell ! Why should Feeling ever speak, When thou canst breathe her soul so well ? Friendship's balmy words may feign. Love's are even more false than they ; Oh ! 'tis only Music's strain Can sweetly soothe, and not betray!
171. oldal - Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than mine ; If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone ; I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over, And all the wild sweetness I wak'd was thy own.
111. 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.