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amongst bards beauty became bless born bosom bright called chief cold Cork dark dear death died drink Dublin early Eire Erin eyes fair fame father feeling flowers gave genius girl give grave green grief hand harp hear heard heart hill hope Ireland Irish John Kilkenny kind known Lady land language leave light literary literature lived London look Lord maid Mary meet memory Moore morning mourn native nature never night o'er once play poems poet poetry poor praise proud race record remembered returned rose round Sheridan sigh sing smile song-writer songs soon sorrow soul spirit Street success sweet tears tender thee thine THOMAS thou thought Translated true turn wife wild writings written wrote young
第 265 頁 - My life is like the autumn leaf That trembles in the moon's pale ray; Its hold is frail, — its date is brief, Restless, and soon to pass away ! Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shade. The winds bewail the leafless tree, — But none shall breathe a sigh for me...
第 324 頁 - 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, Till it grateful press again. Must I with attentive eye Watch her heaving bosom sigh ? I will do so — when I see That heaving...
第 305 頁 - 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. It is not while beauty and youth are...
第 210 頁 - 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. Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene Her purest of crystal and brightest of green; 'twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill, Oh!
第 202 頁 - 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 306 頁 - LESBIA hath a beaming eye, But no one knows for whom it beameth ; Right and left its arrows fly, But what they aim at no one dreameth. Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon My Nora's lid that seldom rises ; Few its looks, but every one, Like unexpected light, surprises...
第 213 頁 - The minstrel fell! — but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under; The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder; And said, "No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery! Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They shall never sound in slavery!
第 201 頁 - 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 90 頁 - Betrayed in friendship, befooled in love, With spirit shipwrecked, and young hopes blasted, He still, still strove. Till spent with toil, dreeing death for others, And some whose hands should have wrought for him (If children live not for sires and mothers), His mind grew dim. And he fell far through that pit abysmal, The gulf and grave of Maginn and Burns, And pawned his soul for the devil's dismal Stock of returns.
第 282 頁 - Tis but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near — The church where we were wed, Mary, I see the spire from here. But the graveyard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest — For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast.