The Golden Treasury of Irish Songs and Lyrics, Volume 2

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Charles Welsh
Dodge Publishing, 1907 - Ballads, Irish
 

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Page 175 - THOU art, O God ! the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see ; Its glow by day, its smile by night, Are but reflections caught from thee. Where'er we turn thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine.
Page 164 - Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me : The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken ; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken ! Thus in the stilly night Oft in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me.
Page 164 - Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a tree or flower, But 'twas the first to fade away.
Page 511 - If I had thought thou couldst have died I might not weep for thee ; But I forgot, when by thy side, That thou couldst mortal be...
Page 176 - 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.
Page 155 - BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away, Thou wouldst still be adored, 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.
Page 311 - Cheeks of rose, untouch'd by art? I will own the colour true, When yielding blushes aid their hue. Is her hand so soft and pure? I must press it, to be sure ; Nor can I be certain then.
Page 186 - I never more shall see my own, my native land : Take a message, and a token to some distant friends of mine; For I was born at Bingen, — at Bingen on the Rhine...
Page 527 - I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.
Page 167 - 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.

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