The Dublin Book of Irish Verse 1728-1909John Cooke |
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Common terms and phrases
Arklow aroon Ballyshannon bán bawn beauty bird blow blue bonnie green woods bosom Bouchaleen brave breast breath bright Cahir Healy cold dark Dark Rosaleen dawn dead dear death deep dream earth Eiré eyes fair flowers Gael glen glory gold golden gone grave grey grief hair hand hath hear heart heaven hills Ireland Irish Irish Volunteers Karaman Kathleen Kincora kiss land light lips lonely machree Mary moon morning mountain Munster ne'er never night o'er Owen Roe O'Neill Rapparees river Róisín Dubh Rory O'Moore rose round rúin Saxon Says the Shan Shan Van Vocht Shane O'Neill shining shore sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul stars streams sweet tears thee There's thine Thomas MacDonagh thou Twas voice wave weary weep wild wind wings woods of Killeevy
Popular passages
Page 2 - At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorned the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
Page 32 - Oft in the stilly night 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 dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad memory brings the light Of other days around me.
Page 730 - 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 380 - In his bed at night. Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men ; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!
Page 40 - 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.
Page 474 - WE are the music-makers, And we are the dreamers of dreams, Wandering by lone sea-breakers, And sitting by desolate streams; World-losers and world-forsakers, On whom the pale moon gleams: Yet we are the movers and shakers Of the world for ever, it seems.
Page 56 - And still upon that face I look, And think 'twill smile again ; And still the thought I will not brook, That I must look in vain ! But when I speak— thou dost not say, What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ; And now I feel, as well I may, Sweet Mary ! thou art dead ! III.
Page 8 - Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow: Now to her that's as brown as a berry: Here's to the wife with a face full of woe, And now to the damsel that's merry.
Page 1 - When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray ; What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.
Page 157 - 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.