The Golden Treasury of Irish Songs and Lyrics, Volum 1Charles Welsh Dodge publishing Company, 1907 |
Des de l'interior del llibre
Resultats 1 - 5 de 52.
Pàgina 8
... gone down all A wee to the blacksmith's wake ; There pass'd ane on by the window small , And guv the door a shake . The man he up and open'd the door When he had spoken a bit , A pedlar man stepp'd into the floor , Down he tumbled the ...
... gone down all A wee to the blacksmith's wake ; There pass'd ane on by the window small , And guv the door a shake . The man he up and open'd the door When he had spoken a bit , A pedlar man stepp'd into the floor , Down he tumbled the ...
Pàgina 28
... gone . They took her lightly back , Between the night and morrow ; They thought that she was fast asleep , But she was dead with sorrow . They have kept her ever since Deep within the lake , On a bed of flag - leaves , Watching till she ...
... gone . They took her lightly back , Between the night and morrow ; They thought that she was fast asleep , But she was dead with sorrow . They have kept her ever since Deep within the lake , On a bed of flag - leaves , Watching till she ...
Pàgina 31
... gone ! THE LOVER AND BIRDS ITHIN a budding grove , W In April's ear sang every bird his best , But not a song to pleasure my unrest , Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love ; Some spake , methought , with pity , some as if in jest ...
... gone ! THE LOVER AND BIRDS ITHIN a budding grove , W In April's ear sang every bird his best , But not a song to pleasure my unrest , Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love ; Some spake , methought , with pity , some as if in jest ...
Pàgina 41
... gone by- Who trench'd the rath on such a hill , and where the bones may lie Of saint , or king , or warrior chief ; with tales of fairy power , And tender ditties sweetly sung to pass the twilight hour . The mournful song of exile is ...
... gone by- Who trench'd the rath on such a hill , and where the bones may lie Of saint , or king , or warrior chief ; with tales of fairy power , And tender ditties sweetly sung to pass the twilight hour . The mournful song of exile is ...
Pàgina 47
... gone - is gone , And his mother soon will follow . The dirge for the dead will be sung for me , And the mass be chanted meetly , And I shall sleep with my little boy , In the moonlight churchyard sweetly . JOHN FRANCIS ARMSTRONG ( 1841 ...
... gone - is gone , And his mother soon will follow . The dirge for the dead will be sung for me , And the mass be chanted meetly , And I shall sleep with my little boy , In the moonlight churchyard sweetly . JOHN FRANCIS ARMSTRONG ( 1841 ...
Continguts
257 | |
275 | |
287 | |
311 | |
330 | |
333 | |
345 | |
351 | |
92 | |
105 | |
114 | |
121 | |
124 | |
131 | |
143 | |
151 | |
157 | |
163 | |
173 | |
184 | |
191 | |
198 | |
207 | |
223 | |
229 | |
236 | |
244 | |
360 | |
369 | |
372 | |
382 | |
389 | |
396 | |
407 | |
414 | |
426 | |
435 | |
442 | |
449 | |
458 | |
459 | |
466 | |
477 | |
484 | |
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
Frases i termes més freqüents
Ballylesson Bawn Bay of Biscay beauty blessed blood bloom blow blue bosom brave breast breath bright brow Caoch cheek Connacht dark dead dear death deep Douglas Hyde dream earth Eileen aroon Erin eyes fair fairy flowers Fontenoy forever girl glen Glen of Aherlow glow gold golden Gougane Barra grave gray green grief hair hand hath heart heaven hills Innisfail Innishowen Ireland Irish Irish poetry kiss land light lonely look lover Machree maiden morning mother mountain ne'er never Newtownbreda night o'er Ossian pale Rapparees rose round shamrock shining shore sigh sing sleep smile soft Soggarth aroon song sorrow soul star STEPHEN LUCIUS GWYNN STOPFORD AUGUSTUS BROOKE summer sweet sword tears tell thee there's thine thou thrush Twas voice wandering wave weary wild wind wood young youth
Passatges populars
Pàgina 13 - We may not know, we cannot tell, what pains he had to bear, but we believe it was for us he hung and suffered there.
Pàgina 360 - Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries, " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom. " Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still ; And though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will.
Pàgina 366 - When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray ; What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.
Pàgina 364 - I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. And there, forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die: 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I.
Pàgina 120 - Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir, Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers, This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were Torn in a scuffle.
Pàgina 64 - In happy climes, where from the genial sun, And virgin earth such scenes ensue, The force of art by nature seems outdone, And fancied beauties by the true...
Pàgina 28 - He's nigh lost his wits. With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses, On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights.
Pàgina 45 - Oh — no! I wish I were a Robin. A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go; Through forest, field or garden, And ask no leave or pardon, Till winter comes with icy thumbs To ruffle up our wing!
Pàgina 359 - When she has walk'd before. But now, her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short all; The doctors found, when she was dead, — Her last disorder mortal. Let us lament, in sorrow sore, For Kent Street well may say, That had she lived a twelvemonth more — She had not died to-day.
Pàgina 259 - 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 may speak.