The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore: Corruption and intolerance ; The sceptic ; Twopenny postbag ; Satirical and humourous poems ; Irish melodies
Longman, Orme, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1841
Was andere dazu sagen - Rezension schreiben
Es wurden keine Rezensionen gefunden.
ancient appears beam beauty believe bless Book breath bright bring called cold Crown dark dear death doubt dream England Erin eyes fair faith fame feel flowers Freedom give given glory gold gone half hand happy harp hath heart heaven honour hope hour House Ireland Irish keep King Lady lately learned leave Letter liberty light live look Lord lost meet mind morning nature ne'er never night o'er once Papists present pride Prince reign remember rest rose round Royal says scepticism shed shine side sigh sleep smile song soon sorrow soul spirit sure sweet tear tell thee things thou thought thro till true truth turn Twas warm weep whole write young
Seite 240 - Oh ! no — it was something more exquisite still. 'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love.
Seite 229 - THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS. THE harp that once through Tava'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 279 - 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 even more false than they ; Oh ! 'tis only Music's strain Can sweetly soothe, and not betray...
Seite 227 - 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.
Seite 297 - 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.
Seite 259 - BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, 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.
Seite 266 - Then blame not the bard, if, in pleasure's soft dream, He should try to forget, what he never can heal ; Oh ! give but a hope — let a vista but gleam Through the gloom of his country, and mark how he'll feel!
Seite 263 - Then here's to her who long Hath waked the poet's sigh, The girl who gave to song What gold could never buy. At Beauty's door of glass When Wealth and Wit once stood, They ask'd her, " which might pass ?" She answer'd,
Seite 265 - But alas for his country ! — her pride is gone by, And that spirit is broken, which never would bend; O'er the ruin her children in secret must sigh, For 'tis treason to love her, and death to defend. Unpriz'd are her sons, till they've learn'd to betray; Undistinguish'd they live, if they shame not their sires; And the torch, that would light them thro' dignity's way, Must be caught from the pile, where their country expires.