Historical Ballad Poetry of IrelandEducational Company of Ireland, 1912 - 256 strán (strany) |
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Athunree AUBREY DE VERE BALLAD bard battle blood boys brave breast Brian bright castle Catholics chief chieftains city of Luimneach clan Connaught cried crown curse Dalcassians Danes dare Dark Rosaleen dead death Desmond Druids Dublin Earl Edward Bruce English Erin Erin's ETHNA CARBERY eyes faithful fierce fight fire flash fled Fontenoy gallant Geraldines glen glory green grey hand hath head heart Heaven hill holy Hugh O'Neill Hurrah Ireland Irish J. C. MANGAN Kildare Kincora King land light Limerick Lord Luimneach linn-ghlas Michael Dwyer morning mountain Mullaghmast night O'Donnell o'er O'Moore Owen Roe Owen Roe O'Neill pale peace Phelim poem Prince proud race Rapparees reign Rory Rory O'Moore rush Sarsfield Saxon Says the Shan Shan Van Vocht Shane Shane O'Neill shore slain song soul sword T. D. SULLIVAN tears thee THOMAS thou to-day Twas Ulster United Irishmen vengeance warriors wave weep wild
Populárne pasáže
Strana 95 - There's wine from the royal Pope, Upon the ocean green; And Spanish ale shall give you hope, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope, Shall give you health, and help, and hope, My Dark Rosaleen! Over hills, and through dales, Have I roamed for your sake; All yesterday I sailed with sails On river and on lake.
Strana 95 - 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 ! My own Rosaleen!
Strana 95 - Woe and pain, pain and woe, Are my lot, night and noon, To see your bright face clouded so, Like to the mournful moon. But yet will I rear your throne Again in golden sheen ; Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen ! My own Rosaleen ! 'Tis you shall have the golden throne, 'Tis you shall reign, and reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen...
Strana 133 - O, mournful is my soul this night for Hugh Maguire ! Darkly, as in a dream he strays ! Before him and behind Triumphs the tyrannous anger of the wounding wind...
Strana 192 - Like lions leaping at a fold, when mad with hunger's pang, Right up against the English line, the Irish exiles sprang : Bright was their steel, 'tis bloody now, their guns are filled with gore ; Through shattered ranks, and severed files, and trampled flags they tore ; The English strove with desperate strength, paused, rallied, staggered...
Strana 216 - The dust of some is Irish earth; Among their own they rest; And the same land that gave them birth Has caught them to her breast; And we will pray that from their clay Full many a race may start Of true men, like you, men, To act as brave a part.
Strana 192 - Their bayonets the breakers' foam ; like rocks the men behind ! One volley crashes from their line, when through the surging smoke, With empty guns clutched in their hands, the headlong Irish broke. On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, hark to that fierce huzza!
Strana 94 - MY Dark Rosaleen, Do not sigh, do not weep ! The priests are on the ocean green, They march along the deep. There's wine from the royal Pope, Upon the ocean green ; And Spanish ale shall give you hope, My Dark Rosaleen...
Strana 55 - twas lonely As if the loved tenant lay dead !— Ah, would it were death, and death only ! But no — the young false one had fled. And there hung the lute that could soften My very worst...
Strana 159 - Wail, wail ye for the Mighty One. Wail, wail ye for the Dead, Quench the hearth, and hold the breath — with ashes strew the head. How tenderly we loved him. How deeply we deplore ! Holy Saviour ! but to think we shall never see him more...