Poems, with biographical intr. by J. Mitchel

Front Cover
0 Reviews

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 30 - All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.
Page 247 - ... in the wind. Like the swift shadows of Noon, like the dreams of the Blind, Vanish the glories and pomps of the earth in the wind.
Page 342 - Over hills and through dales Have I roamed for your sake; All yesterday I sailed with sails On river and on lake. The Erne ... at its highest flood I dashed across unseen, For there was lightning in my blood, My Dark Rosaleen!
Page 343 - 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 344 - O! The Erne shall run red With redundance of blood, The earth shall rock beneath our tread, And flames wrap hill and wood, And gun-peal, and slogan cry Wake many a glen serene, Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die, My dark Rosaleen!
Page 394 - An awful, a tremendous night is this meseems ! The floodgates of the rivers of heaven, I think, have been burst wide — Down from the overcharged clouds, like unto headlong ocean's tide, Descends grey rain in roaring streams.
Page 432 - IN Siberia's wastes The Ice-wind's breath Woundeth like the toothed steel. Lost Siberia doth reveal Only blight and death. Blight and death alone. No Summer shines. Night is interblent with Day. In Siberia's wastes alway The blood blackens, the heart pines. In Siberia's wastes No tears are shed, For they freeze within the brain.
Page 452 - That once there was one whose veins ran lightning No eye beheld. Tell how his boyhood was one drear night-hour, How shone for him, through his griefs and gloom, No star of all heaven sends to light our Path to the tomb.
Page 397 - Sore disgrace it is to see the Arbitress of thrones, Vassal to a Saxoneen of cold and sapless bones! Bitter anguish wrings our souls — with heavy sighs and groans We wait the Young Deliverer of Kathaleen Ny-Houlahan!
Page 382 - Kincora? And where is Donogh, King Brian's worthy son? And where is Conaing, the Beautiful Chief? And Kian, and Core? Alas! they are gone — They have left me this night alone with my grief, Left me, Kincora!

Bibliographic information