Poems of Ireland. To which is added 'Lover's Metrical tales'.

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Samuel Lover
1884
 

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第 169 頁 - 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.
第 198 頁 - Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, His first, best country, ever is at home.
第 3 頁 - ONE day I wrote her name upon the strand ; But came the waves, and washed it away : Agayne, I wrote it with a second hand ; But came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray. Vayne man, sayd she, that doest in vaine assay A mortall thing so to immortalize ; For I my selve shall lyke to this decay, And eke my name bee wyped out lykewize. Not so...
第 6 頁 - The corn was springin' fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high, And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary, The day is bright as then, The lark's loud song is in my ear, And the corn is green again; But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your breath, warm on my cheek: And I still keep list'nin' for the words You never more will speak.
第 245 頁 - O, MY Dark Rosaleen, Do not sigh, do not weep ! The priests are on the ocean green, They march along the deep. There's wine from the royal Pope, Upon the ocean green ; And Spanish ale shall give you hope, My Dark Rosaleen...
第 170 頁 - 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. O, the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
第 25 頁 - And while they are keeping Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me ! And say thou wouldst rather They'd watch o'er thy father, For I know that the angels are whispering to thee.
第 64 頁 - SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she think not well of me, What care I how fair she be?
第 78 頁 - I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for a glass. Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize; Now to the maid who has none, sir; Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes, And here's to the nymph with but one, sir. Chorus. Let the toast pass, &c.
第 313 頁 - King, and royal craftsmen we ; Strike in, strike in, the sparks begin to dull their rustling red! Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped; Our anchor soon must change...

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