Ballads, Poems, and Lyrics, Original and TranslatedJ. McGlashan, 1850 - 388 pàgines |
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Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
Ballads, Poems, and Lyrics, Original and Translated Denis Florence MacCarthy Visualització completa - 1850 |
Ballads, Poems, and Lyrics, Original and Translated Denis Florence MacCarthy Visualització completa - 1850 |
Ballads, Poems, and Lyrics, Original and Translated Denis Florence MacCarthy Visualització completa - 1850 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
Acta Sanctorum Advance amid ANDRE CHENIER Arran azure Ballyshannon beams beautiful beneath birds blessed bliss bosom breast breath Brendan bright Cabul charms clouds crowd Cushendall dark dear dost doth dream earth eyes fair fairest fairy flies flowers fond gannet gazing gentle gleam glorious glow golden Gougane Barra green hand happy hath heart heaven hills hope hour island isle JUSTINUS KERNER Kenmare laugh life's light lips Living Land look Love's Mac Caura maidens Malloc Moorish morn mother mountain neath never night nymphs o'er Paskal passed peace Phooka proud Pulcherius Purchena purple rich rock rose rosy round sails Saint scene shining shore sighs silent sing skies smile song star steed stranger band stream summer sunny sweet tears thee thine tide Tirhugh tree vales virgin Queen voice wander waves weary weep wild wilt wings young youth
Passatges populars
Pàgina 135 - AH! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May — Waiting for the pleasant rambles, Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles, With the woodbine alternating, Scent the dewy way. Ah ! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May.
Pàgina 383 - The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like Heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument...
Pàgina 136 - Hopes and flowers that, dead or dying, All the winter lay. Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, Sighing for the May. Ah! my heart is pained with throbbing, Throbbing for the May, Throbbing for the seaside billows, Or the water-wooing willows, Where, in laughing and in sobbing, Glide the streams away. Ah! my heart, my heart is throbbing, Throbbing for the May. Waiting, sad, dejected, weary, Waiting for the May, Spring goes by with wasted warnings...
Pàgina 11 - Laboureth ever and ever with hope through the morning of life, Winning home and its darling divinities — love-worshipped children and wife. Round swings the hammer of industry, quickly the sharp chisel rings, And the heart of the toiler has throbbings that stir not the bosom oi...
Pàgina 199 - Do our numbers multiply But to perish and to die? Is this all our destiny below, — That our bodies, as they rot, May fertilize the spot Where the harvests of the stranger grow? If this be, indeed, our fate, Far, far better now, though late, That we seek some other land and try some other zone; The coldest, bleakest shore Will surely yield us more Than the storehouse of the stranger that we dare not call our own.
Pàgina 362 - ... precipice is alike to him, provided he gratifies the malevolence that seems to inspire him. He bounds and flies over and beyond them, gratified by the distress, and utterly reckless and ruthless of the cries, and danger, and suffering, of the luckless wight who bestrides him. As the ' Tinna Geolaue,' or Will-o'-the-Wisp, he lures but to betray; like the Hanoverian 'Tuckbold*,' he deludes the night wanderer into a bog, and leads him to his destruction in a quagmire or pit.
Pàgina 375 - Rocks) the receptacle of a deale of scales thereon yearly slaughtered. These rocks sometimes appear to be a great city far off, full of houses, castles, towers, and chimneys ; sometimes full of blazing flames, smoak, and people running to and fro. Another day you would see nothing but a number of ships, with their sailes and riggings ; then so many great stakes or reekes of corn and turf...
Pàgina 383 - O ! beauty, some spell from kind Nature thou bearest, Some magic of tone or enchantment of eye, That hearts that are hardest, from forms that are fairest, Receive such impressions as never can die ! The foot of the fairy, though lightsome and airy, Can stamp on the hard rock * the shape it doth wear, Art cannot trace it nor ages efface it — And such are thy glances, sweet Kate of Kenmare...
Pàgina 148 - Here was placed the holy chalice that held the sacred wine, And the gold cross from the altar, and the relics from the shrine, And the mitre shining brighter with its diamonds than the East, And the crozier of the Pontiff and the vestments of the Priest!
Pàgina 382 - ... all we be made as white as any snow, for to praise our Lorde in the best wise we may. And then all the birds began to sing even song so merrilie, that it was an heavenlie noise to hear ; and, after supper, Saint Brandon and his fellows went to bed and slept well And in the morn they arose by times, and then these foules began mattyns, prime, and hours, and all such service as Christian men used to sing ; and St. Brandon, with his fellows, abode there seven weeks, until Trinity Sunday was passed.