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airs Bard beam beautiful believe bliss bosom bowers bowl breath bright bring charm close clouds cold dark dear death deep Ditto dream drink drop earth ERIN eyes fade fair fall feel fields flowers forget friends give glory gold gone grave green hands happy Harp hath heart heaven hope hour Ireland Irish isle keep Lady Lake land leave less light lips live looks lost lov'd meet Melodies morning ne'er never night NUMBER o'er once pleasure proud pure remember rest rose round shade shed shine sigh sleep smile song soon sorrow soul sound spirit star sweet sword taste tear tell thee thine thou thought thro Twas warm wave weep where'er wild wind young youth
Seite 12 - 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.
Seite 44 - Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree ? Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, If he kneel not before the same altar with me...
Seite 70 - Music ! oh how faint, how weak, Language fades before thy spell ! Why should Feeling ever speak, When thou canst breathe her soul so well ? Friendship's balmy words may feign, Love's are ev'n more false than they ; Oh ! 'tis only Music's strain Can sweetly soothe, and not betray ! IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS MOMENT SHED.
Seite 91 - He had lived for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him, Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him.
Seite 22 - THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ! f 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 the soft magic of streamlet or hill, Oh ! no — it was something more exquisite still.
Seite 122 - Let Fate do her worst ; there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy ; Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Seite 10 - OH ! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. OH ! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid ; Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed, As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head. But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps ; And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
Seite 162 - ... us ! And when, in other climes, we meet Some isle or vale enchanting, Where all looks flowery, wild and sweet, And nought but love is wanting ; We think...