Irish Pedigrees: Or, The Origin and Stem of the Irish Nation, Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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J. Duffy and Company, 1892 - Ireland
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Page 5 - The book of the generation of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.
Page 672 - 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. No more to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tara swells ; The chord alone, that breaks at night, Its tale of ruin tells. Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives, Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that...
Page 783 - From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, — Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.
Page 6 - These are the generations of the heavens and of the earth when they were created in the day that the LORD God made the earth and the heavens...
Page 53 - Rings o'er the echoing sea ; While, bending to heaven, the warriors hail That home of the brave and free. Then turned they unto the eastern wave, Where now their Day-God's eye A look of such sunny omen gave As lighted up sea and sky. Nor frown was seen through sky or вел, Nor tear o'er leaf or sod, When first on their Isle of Destiny Our great forefathers trod.
Page 168 - The treaty broken, ere the ink wherewith 'twas writ could dry, Their plundered homes, their ruined shrines, their women's parting cry, Their priesthood hunted down like wolves, their country overthrown, — Each looks as if revenge for all were staked on him alone. On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, nor ever yet elsewhere, Rushed on to fight a nobler band than these proud exiles were. O'Brien's voice is hoarse with joy, as, halting, he commands, "Fix bay'nets" — "charge," — Like mountain storm, rush on...
Page 802 - And bring back the features that joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd ! Like the vase, in which roses have once been distill'd — You may break, you may ruin the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
Page xxx - On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays, When the clear, cold eve's declining, He sees the round towers of other days, In the wave beneath him shining! Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, Catch a glimpse of the days that are over, Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time For the long-faded glories they cover!
Page 168 - you have your wish, there are your Saxon foes! " The marshal almost smiles to see, so furiously he goes! How fierce the look these exiles wear, who're wont to be so gay, The treasured wrongs of fifty years are in their hearts to-day — The treaty broken, ere the ink wherewith 'twas writ could dry, Their plundered homes, their ruined shrines, their women's parting cry...
Page 76 - I have lived to my ninety-sixth year ; I have enjoyed continued health ; I have been blessed with great wealth, prosperity, and most of the good things which the world can bestow — public approbation, esteem, applause ; but what I now look back upon with the greatest satisfaction to myself is, that I have practised the duties of my religion.

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