The ballad poetry of Ireland. Ed. by C.G. Duffy. 4th ed, Том 2

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sir Charles Gavan Duffy
1845
 

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Страница 245 - THE BELLS OF SHANDON 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.
Страница 53 - My blessin' and my pride; There's nothing left to care for now. Since my poor Mary died. Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on, When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm's young strength was gone; There was comfort ever on your lip, And the kind look on your brow, — I bless you, Mary, for that same, Though you cannot hear me now. I thank you for the patient smile When your heart was fit to break, — When the hunger pain was gnawin...
Страница 245 - 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.
Страница 101 - We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Страница 245 - ... knelling Its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. I've heard bells tolling Old "Adrian's Mole...
Страница 168 - Scully! may all kinds Of evil attend thee! On thy dark road of life May no kind one befriend thee! May fevers long burn thee, And agues long freeze thee! May the strong hand of God In his red anger seize thee! Had he died calmly, I would not deplore him; Or if the wild strife Of the sea-war closed o'er him; But with ropes round his white limbs Through ocean to trail him, Like a fish after slaughter — 'Tis therefore I wail him. Long may the curse Of his people pursue them; Scully, that sold him,...
Страница 85 - Nothing can convince tyrants of their folly but gunpowder and steel, so put your trust in God my boys and keep your powder dry.
Страница 220 - ... tis at a white heat now; The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; though on the forge's brow The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound ; And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round, All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare ; Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there. The windlass strains the tackle chains, the black mound heaves below, And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at every throe ; It rises, roars, rends...
Страница 155 - Tho' the piper I bate, For fear the owld chate Wouldn't play you your favourite tune ; And when you're at mass My devotion you crass, For 'tis thinking of you I am, Molly Carew, While you wear, on purpose, a bonnet so deep, That I can't at your sweet purty face get a peep : Oh, lave off that bonnet, Or else I'll lave on it The loss of my wandherin...
Страница 109 - Then, daughter of O'Donnell, dry Thine overflowing eyes, and turn Thy heart aside, For Adam's race is born to die, And sternly the sepulchral urn Mocks human pride. Look not, nor sigh, for earthly throne, Nor place thy trust in arm of clay, But on thy knees Uplift thy soul to God alone. For all things go their destined way As He decrees.

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