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AIR-The bard beam beauty believe bliss bosom bowl break breath bright bring calm charm close cloud cold dark dear death deep dream drop earth Erin eyes fade fair fall fame feel fields flame flowers Folly friends gave give glory gold gone grave green grief hand harp hath heart Heaven hope hour Ireland Irish isle keep lake leaves light lips live looks lost maiden meet morning ne'er never night o'er once pain pleasure pure Reason remember rest rose round shade Shamrock shed shine shore sigh sleep smile song soon sorrow soul sparkled spirit spring star steal sweet sword tear tell thee thine thou thought true Twas waked warm waters waves weep where'er wild wind young youth
11. 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 ! n.
49. oldal - No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close ; As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turned when he rose.
48. oldal - Thou wouldst still be ador'd, 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.
85. oldal - LESBIA hath a beaming eye, But no one knows for whom it beameth ; Right and left its arrows fly, But what they aim at no one dreameth.
158. 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 ! The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill ; But, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness, That ev'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.
88. oldal - Seem'd worthless in thine own, Mary ! If souls could always dwell above, Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere ; Or could we keep the souls we love. We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary ! Though many a gifted mind we meet, Though fairest forms we see, To live with them is far less sweet Than to remember thee, Mary !' BY THAT LAKE WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE.
147. oldal - Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here ; Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.
14. oldal - No ; — life is a waste of wearisome hours, Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns ; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, Is always the first to be touched by the thorns.
218. oldal - ALL that's bright must fade, — The brightest still the fleetest ; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest Stars that shine and fall ; — The flower that drops in springing ; , These, alas ! are types of all To which our hearts are clinging. All that's bright must fade, — All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest...