Revolted Ireland, 1798 and 1803

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Page 96 - When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth — then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written.
Page 35 - To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray?
Page 92 - OH, BREATHE NOT HIS NAME I— Moore. Oh, breathe not his name ! let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonoured 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.
Page 95 - I am going to my cold and silent grave ; my lamp of life is nearly extinguished ; my race is run ; the grave opens to receive me, and I sink into its bosom ! I have but one request to ask at my departure from this world ; it is the charity of its silence...
Page 95 - My lords, you are impatient for the sacrifice. The blood which you seek is not congealed by the artificial terrors which surround your victim - it circulates warmly and unruffled through the channels which God created for noble purposes, but which you are now bent to destroy for purposes so grievous that they cry to heaven.
Page 41 - How art thou fallen from heaven, 0 Lucifer, son of the morning ! how art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations...
Page 30 - And sure it is yet a most beautiful and sweet country as any is under heaven, being stored throughout with many goodly rivers, replenished with all sorts of fish...
Page 95 - I cannot let this numerous audience suppose that to such an appeal I have no answer to make. But what I have to say you would not bear to hear, for my defence would be your condemnation. Proceed, then, in the name of God, to do what is permitted to you. Yesterday and the day before you have condemned loyal and honourable blood to be poured forth like water. Spare not mine. Were that of all my ancestors in my veins, I would have perilled it in this quarrel.
Page 95 - I am going to my cold and silent grave: my lamp of life is nearly extinguished: my race is run: the grave opens to receive me, and I sink into its bosom! I have but one request to ask at my departure from this world, — it is the charity of its silence! Let no man write my epitaph: for as no...

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