Poems

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Gilbert and Hodges, 1811 - Irish poetry - 110 pages

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Page 18 - True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven : It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die ; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind.
Page 95 - OW justly alarmed is each Dublin cit That he'll soon be transformed to a clown, sir ! By a magical move of that conjuror Pitt...
Page 33 - SWEET Chloe advised me, in accents divine, The joys of the bowl to surrender ; Nor lose, in the turbid excesses of wine, Delights more ecstatic and tender ; She bade me no longer in vineyards to bask, Or stagger, at orgies, the dupe of a flask, For the sigh of a sot's but the scent of the cask, And a bubble the bliss of the bottle. To a soul that's exhausted, or sterile, or dry, The juice of the grape may be wanted ; But mine is reviv'd by a love-beaming eye, And with fancy's gay flow'rets enchanted.
Page 66 - Philomel, I've listened oft To thy lay, nigh weeping willow ; Oh, the strain's more sweet, more soft, That flows from Kate of Garnavilla ! Have you been, &c. As a noble ship I've seen Sailing o'er the swelling billow, So I've marked the graceful mien Of lovely Kate of Garnavilla. Have you been, &c. If poets...
Page 39 - The lamp of life is soon burnt out ; Then who'd for riches make a rout, Except a doating blockhead ? When Charon takes 'em both aboard, Of equal worth's the miser's hoard And spendthrift's empty pocket. In such a scurvy world as this We must not hope for perfect bliss, And length of life together ; We have no moral liberty At will to live, at will to die, In fair or stormy weather.
Page 96 - By St. Patrick, they'll graze there alive, sir ! Give Pitt, &c. In the Parliament House, quite alive, shall there be All the vermin the island e'er gathers ; Full of rooks, as before, Daly's club-house you'll see, But the pigeons won't have any feathers. Give Pitt, &c. Our Custom House quay, full of weeds, oh, rare sport ! But the Ministers...
Page 66 - Oh ! she's pure as virgin snows Ere they light on woodland hill-O ; Sweet as dew-drop on wild rose Is lovely Kate of Garnavilla ! Philomel...
Page 88 - To serve us still, with might and skill, the vet'ran now appears, That gallant man who led the van of Irish Volunteers. He sows no vile dissensions ; good-will to all he bears; He knows no vain pretensions, no paltry fears or cares; To Erin's and to Britain's sons, his worth his name endears ; They love the man who led the van of Irish Volunteers.
Page 87 - THE gen'rous sons of Erin, in manly virtue bold, With hearts and hands preparing our country to uphold, Tho' cruel knaves and bigot slaves disturbed our isle some years, Now hail the man who led the van of Irish Volunteers. Just thirty years are ending since first his glorious aid, Our sacred rights defending, struck shackles from our trade ; To serve us still, with might and skill, the vet'ran now appears, That gallant man who led the van of Irish Volunteers. He...
Page 96 - Courts may thrive, Sir ! Your markets again shall with muttons be fill'd — By St. Patrick ! they'll graze there alive, Sir ! Give Pitt, &c. " In the Parliament House, quite alive, shall there be All the vermin the island e'er gathers ; Full of rooks, as before, Daly's Club-house you'll see, But the pigeons won't have any feathers. Give Pitt, &c. " Our Custom House quay full of weeds, oh ! rare sport! But the...

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