Shells from the Shannon, ballads, poems & lyrics, orig. & transl


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Página 6 - 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 of kings — • He the true ruler and conqueror, he the true king of his race Who nerveth his arm for life's combat, and looks the strong world in the face.
Página 130 - 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.
Página 253 - He sails, but no token of land is in sight; He sails, but the day shows no more than the night ; On, onward he sails, while in vain o'er the lee The lead is plunged down through a fathomless sea. The pilot in silence, leans mournfully o'er The rudder which creaks mid the billowy roar ; He hears the hoarse moan of the spray-driving blast, And its funeral wail through the shrouds of the mast.
Página 255 - But, lo! his dream changes; — a vision less bright Comes to darken and banish that scene of delight. The gold-seeking Spaniards, a merciless band. Assail the meek natives and ravage the land. He sees the fair palace, the temple on fire, And the peaceful Cazique 'mid their ashes expire; He sees, too, — Oh, saddest!
Página 370 - 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...
Página 143 - 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!
Página 84 - Our little bark, kissing the dimpled smiles On ocean's cheek, flew like a wanton bird, And then the land, with all its hundred isles, Faded away, and yet we spoke no word. Each silent tongue held converse with the past, Each moistened eye looked round the circling wave, And, save the spot where stood our trembling mast, Saw all things hid within one mighty grave.
Página 141 - THE pillar towers of Ireland, how wondrously they stand By the lakes and rushing rivers through the valleys of our land ; In mystic file, through the isle, they Lift their heads sublime, These gray old pillar temples, these conquerors of time...
Página 383 - Sleidan relates that in the year 1553 a vast multitude of butterflies swarmed through a great part of Germany, and sprinkled plants, leaves, buildings, clothes, and men, with bloody drops, as if it had rained blood b.
Página 34 - Glengariff's water that she let her lovers pine ; Her eye was beauty's palace, and her cheek an ivory chalice, Through which the blood of Alice gleamed soft as rosiest wine, And her lips like lusmore blossoms which the fairies intertwine,* And her heart a golden mine. She was gentler and shyer than the light fawn...

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