The earlier poets. The Blackwood coterie, and earlier Scottish poets. The poets of young Ireland

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Henry Fitz Randolph
A. D. F. Randolph & Company, 1887 - Ballads, English
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Page 164 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags^ Plying her needle and thread — Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger and dirt; And still with a voice of dolorous pitch — Would that its tone could reach the rich! — She sang the
Page 48 - The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Page 41 - They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun; But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. "Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good Prince Eugene.
Page 56 - She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition , sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn ; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
Page 47 - Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Page 44 - Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.
Page 167 - Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran, — Over the brink of it, Picture it — think of it, Dissolute man ! Lave in it, drink of it. Then, if you can ! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care ; Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair...
Page 40 - Old Kaspar took it from the boy Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh "Tis some poor fellow's skull,' said he, 'Who fell in the great victory.
Page 45 - mid work of his own hand he lies. Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses. With light upon him from his father's eyes!
Page 57 - This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not.

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