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alſo alten Arbeit Armen beiden beinahe Belfaſt Berge berühmten beſonders bloß breit D'Connell daher dieſe dieß Dinge drei Dublin eben ſo Ehren eigenen eigenthümliche einige einmal Ende endlich England engliſchen Erin fand faſt fein fich find findet Freunde Führer Fuß ganze geben genannt gewöhnlich giebt glaube gleich Glendalough Grafſchaft großen Hand heiligen hohen indem Inſel irgend iriſchen Irland iſt Jahre jekt jeßt Kinder Kirchen kleinen kommen Könige konnte Küſte Landes lange Leben Leute lich Liebe liegen liegt machen macht Mann Meer Meilen Menge Menſchen Mitte muß Nähe Namen natürlich nehmen neuen Norden oben Orten Pfund recht Repeal Ruinen Sache ſagte ſcheint ſchon ſchönen Schottland ſehen ſehr ſei ſein ſeine ſeit Seite ſelbſt ſich ſie ſind ſo viel ſogar ſolche ſondern Stadt Steine Tage Thal Theil Tom Steele überall unſere vielleicht Volk Waterford Weiſe weiter Welt weniger Werford wieder wohl Worte zuweilen zwei zwiſchen
Page i - When will Heaven, its sweet bell ringing, Call my spirit from this stormy world ? Sadly, oh Moyle ! to thy winter wave weeping, Fate bids me languish long ages away ; Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping, Still doth the pure light its dawning delay ! When will that day-star, mildly springing, Warm our isle with peace and love ? When will Heaven, its sweet bell ringing, Call my spirit to the fields above ? COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE.
Page 75 - LET Erin remember the days of old, Ere her faithless sons betray'd her ; When Malachi wore the collar of gold*, Which he won from her proud invader, When her kings, with standard of green unfurl'd, Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger •)-; — Ere the emerald gem of the western world Was set in the crown of a stranger.
Page 75 - 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.
Page 86 - BY that Lake, whose gloomy shore Sky-lark never warbles o'er, ')' "Where the cliff hangs high and steep, Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep. " Here, at least," he calmly said, " Woman ne'er shall find my bed.
Page 76 - WHILE History's Muse the memorial was keeping Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves, Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping, For hers was the story that blotted the leaves. But oh ! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame, She saw History write, With a pencil of light That illumed the whole volume, her Wellington's name !
Page 72 - THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet, As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ; Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.
Page 75 - And through ages of bondage and slaughter, Our country shall bleed for thy shame. Already the curse is upon her, And strangers her valleys profane ; They come to divide — to dishonour, And tyrants they long will remain. But onward ! — the green banner rearing, Go, flesh every sword to the hilt ; On our side is Virtue and Erin, On theirs is the Saxon and guilt.
Page 73 - Arranmore, loved Arranmore, How oft I dream of thee, And of those days when, by thy shore, I wander'd young and free. Full many a path I've tried, since then, Through pleasure's flowery maze, But ne'er could find the bliss again I felt in those sweet days. How blithe upon thy breezy cliffs, At sunny morn I've stood, With heart as bounding as the skiffs That...
Page 248 - OH, give me one strain Of that wild harp again, In melody proudly its own ! Sweet harp of the days that are gone! Time's wide-wasting wing Its cold shadow may fling Where the light of the soul hath no part; The sceptre and sword Both decay with their lord — But the throne of the bard, is the heart. And hearts, while they beat To thy music so sweet, Thy glories will ever prolong...