What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
admired ballad Banim bard battle BATTLE OF BENBURB beauty bless brave bright brother Celt Charles Gavan Duffy dark dead dear death Dowling Dublin Dunbui earth Erin Erin's eyes fair Hills fame Father Meehan Fitz-James O'Brien flag flowers friends Gael genius Gerald Gerald Griffin glory grave green Griffin Halpine hand hath heart Heaven Hills of Eire honor hope Hurrah Innisfail Ireland Irish James Clarence Mangan John Banim labor Limerick literary live lonely looked Lord Lover Mangan McGee memory morning mother mountain Munster Nation native land ne'er never night noble o'er once patriotic poem poet poetry priest proud river Lee Rory round Samuel Lover Sarsfield shine shore sigh smile Soggarth Aroon song soul spirit sweet sword tears thee Thomas D'Arcy McGee thou thunder verse voice wave wild writing wrote young Young Ireland youth
Page 405 - THE BELLS OF SHANDON With deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, In the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On this I ponder Where'er I wander And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee, — With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
Page 406 - I've heard bells tolling Old Adrian's mole in, Their thunder rolling From the Vatican, And cymbals glorious Swinging uproarious In the gorgeous turrets Of Notre Dame; But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly.
Page 172 - Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Page 177 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow...
Page 176 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
Page 408 - There is a stone there, that whoever kisses, Oh! he never misses to grow eloquent. 'Tis he may clamber to a lady's chamber, Or become a member of parliament: A clever spouter he'll sure turn out, or An out-and-outer, "to be let alone," Don't hope to hinder him, or to bewilder him; Sure he's a pilgrim from the Blarney stone!
Page 336 - And I have heard songs in the Silence That never shall float into speech ; And I have had dreams in the Valley Too lofty for language to reach. And I have seen Thoughts in the Valley — Ah ! me, how my spirit was stirred ! And they wear holy veils on their faces, Their footsteps can scarcely be heard : They pass through the Valley like Virgins, Too pure for the touch of a word...
Page 176 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet or in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Page 177 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring : And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.