Melodies (Irish melodies, National melodies). (Google eBook)

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Page 11 - 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 ! n.
Page 155 - Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning The close of our day, the calm eve of our night ; — Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of Morning, Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best light.
Page 51 - No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close ; As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turned when he rose.
Page 50 - Thou wouldst still be ador'd, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still.
Page 87 - LESBIA hath a beaming eye, But no one knows for whom it beameth ; Right and left its arrows fly, But what they aim at no one dreameth.
Page 160 - Dear Harp of my Country ! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, When proudly, my own Island Harp, I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song ! The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill ; But, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness, That ev'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.
Page 90 - Seem'd worthless in thine own, Mary ! If souls could always dwell above, Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere ; Or could we keep the souls we love. We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary ! Though many a gifted mind we meet, Though fairest forms we see, To live with them is far less sweet Than to remember thee, Mary !' BY THAT LAKE WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE.
Page 149 - Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here ; Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.
Page 14 - No ; — life is a waste of wearisome hours, Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns ; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, Is always the first to be touched by the thorns.
Page 220 - ALL that's bright must fade, — The brightest still the fleetest ; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest Stars that shine and fall ; — The flower that drops in springing ; , These, alas ! are types of all To which our hearts are clinging. All that's bright must fade, — All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest...

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