Irish Song Book, Vydanie 2

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1909
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Strana 119 - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers around her are sighing : But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying.
Strana 66 - THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet...
Strana 120 - Ah ! little they think, who delight in her strains, How the heart of the minstrel is breaking ! He had lived for his love, for his country he died — They were all that to life had entwined him ; Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him ! Oh ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, When they promise a glorious morrow ; They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west. From her own loved island of sorrow !
Strana 43 - Whole ages have fled and their works decayed, And nations have scattered been ; But the stout old Ivy shall never fade, From its hale and hearty green. The brave old plant in its lonely days, Shall fatten upon the past: For the stateliest building man can raise, Is the Ivy's food at last. Creeping on, where time has been, A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Strana 123 - Oh, what was love made for, if 'tis not the same Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame, I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart : I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. Thou hast...
Strana 41 - twas looking at you now ! Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again! "Twas the pride of my dairy: O Barney M'Cleary! You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine.
Strana 45 - And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers ; Where the sun loves to pause With so fond a delay, That the night only draws A thin veil o'er the day; Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give.
Strana 7 - OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. OH ! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid : Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.
Strana 41 - As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping With a pitcher of milk from the fair of Coleraine, When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled, And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain.
Strana 84 - When Heaven all bounteous ever, Its boundless mercy sent ; A sail in sight appears, We hail her with three cheers. Now we sail, with the gale, From the Bay of Biscay, O ! THE MID-WATCH.

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