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Page 30 - All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.
Page 432 - In Siberia's wastes Are sands and rocks. Nothing blooms of green or soft, But the snow-peaks rise aloft And the gaunt ice-blocks. And the exile there Is one with those; They are part, and he is part, For the sands are in his heart, And the killing snows.
Page 343 - 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...
Page 248 - I saw her once, one little while, and then no more . 'Twas Paradise on Earth awhile, and then no more : Ah ! what avail my vigils pale, my magic lore ? She shone before mine eyes awhile, and then no more.
Page 341 - O, 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...
Page 394 - An awful, a tremendous night is this meseems ! The floodgates of the rivers of heaven, I think, have been burst wide — Down from the overcharged clouds, like unto headlong ocean's tide, Descends grey rain in roaring streams.
Page 431 - The ungilded shrine, the single soul Of Washington; TRUTH'S name, alone, shall man adore, Long as the waves of time shall roll Henceforward on ! My countrymen ! my words are weak, My health is gone, my soul is dark, My heart is chill — Yet would I fain and fondly seek To see you borne in freedom's bark O'er ocean still.
Page 458 - tis half-past twelve o'clock! After all, the hours do slip away — Come, here goes to burn another block! For the night, or morn, is wet and cold, And my fire is dwindling rather low: — I had fire enough, when young and bold, Twenty golden years ago!
Page 388 - By Ulster's bands. Theirs were not souls wherein dull Time Could domicile decay or house Decrepitude ! They passed from earth ere manhood's prime, Ere years had power to dim their brows Or chill their blood. And who can marvel o'er thy grief, Or who can blame thy flowing tears, That knows their source ? O'Donnell...