A Golden Treasury of Irish Verse

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Lennox Robinson
Macmillan, 1925 - 346 pages
 

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Page 237 - And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.
Page 272 - No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere: I see Heaven's glories shine, And Faith shines equal, arming me from Fear O God within my breast, Almighty, ever-present Deity! Life, that in me has rest, As I, undying Life, have power in Thee! Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts: unutterably vain; Worthless as withered weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, To waken doubt in one Holding so fast by Thine infinity, So surely anchored on The steadfast...
Page 300 - Oft, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me : The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken ; The eyes that shone, Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken ! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me. Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me.
Page 253 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light. And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast...
Page 243 - Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train ; He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain.
Page 116 - 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. No more to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tara swells ; The chord alone, that breaks at night, Its tale of ruin tells. Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives, Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that...
Page 269 - I never saw sad men who looked So wistfully at the day. I never saw sad men who looked With such a wistful eye Upon that little tent of blue We prisoners call the sky, And at every careless cloud that passed In happy freedom by.
Page 162 - All day long in unrest To and fro do I move, The very soul within my breast Is wasted for you, love ! The heart ... in my bosom faints To think of you, my Queen, My life of life, my saint of saints, My Dark Rosaleen...
Page 243 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place.
Page 54 - Tis but a step down yonder lane. And the little church stands near — The church where we were wed, Mary ; I see the spire from here. But the grave-yard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest, For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast.

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