The lyrics of Ireland, ed. by S. Lover

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Samuel Lover
1858
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Page 170 - I've heard bells tolling Old Adrian's mole in, Their thunder rolling From the Vatican ; And cymbals glorious Swinging uproarious In the gorgeous turrets Of Notre Dame. But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly: Oh, the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
Page 198 - Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, His first, best country, ever is at home.
Page 3 - ONE day I wrote her name upon the strand ; But came the waves, and washed it away : Agayne, I wrote it with a second hand ; But came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray. Vayne man, sayd she, that doest in vaine assay A mortall thing so to immortalize ; For I my selve shall lyke to this decay, And eke my name bee wyped out lykewize. Not so...
Page 6 - The corn was springin' fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high, And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary, The day is bright as then, The lark's loud song is in my ear, And the corn is green again; But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your breath, warm on my cheek: And I still keep list'nin' for the words You never more will speak.
Page 64 - SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she think not well of me, What care I how fair she be?
Page 78 - I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize ; Now to the maid who has none, sir : Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes, And here's to the nymph with but one, sir.
Page 121 - So lovely the Widow Malone. Of lovers she had a full score, or more, And fortunes they all had galore, in store; From the minister down to the clerk of the crown, All were courting the Widow Malone, ohone! All were courting the Widow Malone. But so modest was Mistress Malone, 'twas known, That no one could see her alone, ohone!
Page 12 - Go, forget me — why should sorrow O'er that brow a shadow fling ? Go, forget me — and to-morrow Brightly smile and sweetly sing. Smile — though I shall not be near thee ; Sing — though I shall never hear thee ; May thy soul with pleasure shine Lasting as the gloom of mine ! Go, forget me, etc.
Page 246 - 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 245 - 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...

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