Nova Hibernia: Irish Poets and Dramatists of Today and YesterdayM. Kennerley, 1914 - 272 стор. |
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Сторінка 152
... Fontenoy- his own Fontenoy , the fiercest , truest song of battle that ever sprang from the heart of poet . Thrice , at the huts of Fontenoy , the English column failed , And , twice , the lines of Saint Antoine , the Dutch in vain ...
... Fontenoy- his own Fontenoy , the fiercest , truest song of battle that ever sprang from the heart of poet . Thrice , at the huts of Fontenoy , the English column failed , And , twice , the lines of Saint Antoine , the Dutch in vain ...
Сторінка 153
... Fontenoy - on Fontenoy , how fast his generals ride ! And mustering come his chosen troops , like clouds at even- tide . Six thousand English veterans in stately column tread , Their cannon blaze in front and flank , Lord Hay is at ...
... Fontenoy - on Fontenoy , how fast his generals ride ! And mustering come his chosen troops , like clouds at even- tide . Six thousand English veterans in stately column tread , Their cannon blaze in front and flank , Lord Hay is at ...
Сторінка 154
... Fontenoy - past Fontenoy , while thinner grow their ranks- They break as broke the Zuyder Zee thro ' Holland's ocean banks . More idly than the summer flies , French tirailleurs rush round : As stubble to the lava tide , French ...
... Fontenoy - past Fontenoy , while thinner grow their ranks- They break as broke the Zuyder Zee thro ' Holland's ocean banks . More idly than the summer flies , French tirailleurs rush round : As stubble to the lava tide , French ...
Сторінка 155
... Fontenoy , on Fontenoy , hark to that fierce huzza- " Revenge ! -Remember Limerick ! -Dash down the Sas- senach ! " Like lions leaping at a fold when mad with hunger's pang , Right up against the English line the Irish exiles sprang ...
... Fontenoy , on Fontenoy , hark to that fierce huzza- " Revenge ! -Remember Limerick ! -Dash down the Sas- senach ! " Like lions leaping at a fold when mad with hunger's pang , Right up against the English line the Irish exiles sprang ...
Сторінка 156
... Fontenoy , -on Fontenoy , like eagles in the sun , With bloody plumes the Irish stand - the field is fought and won ! It is small matter for wonder that , as to Davis , the sword soon wore out the scabbard . " I have taken too many ...
... Fontenoy , -on Fontenoy , like eagles in the sun , With bloody plumes the Irish stand - the field is fought and won ! It is small matter for wonder that , as to Davis , the sword soon wore out the scabbard . " I have taken too many ...
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Nova Hibernia: Irish Poets and Dramatists of Today and Yesterday Michael Monahan Повний перегляд - 1914 |
Nova Hibernia: Irish Poets and Dramatists of Today and Yesterday Michael Monahan Повний перегляд - 1914 |
Nova Hibernia; Irish Poets and Dramatists of Today and Yesterday Michael Monahan Перегляд фрагмента - 1967 |
Загальні терміни та фрази
Anacreon beautiful better blood bright brilliant Brooke Byron Cáhál Mór century character classic Cork Costigan critics dark Rosaleen Davis dear death Dickens dream Dublin English Erin eyes fair Hills faith fame famous fancy Father Prout feeling Fontenoy Francis Sylvester Mahony Fraser's Fraser's Magazine genius Gerald Griffin gifted glory Gougaune hath heart Hills of Eire honour hope immortal Ireland Irish Melodies Irish patriotism Irish poet Irishman James Clarence Mangan Jeffrey Lalla Rookh land less light literary literature lived Lord Lord Byron Mangan Moore's Muse never Nora Creina NOVA HIBERNIA o'er passion perhaps poem poet's poetical poetry priest prose race river Lee School for Scandal Sheridan song soul spirit story Synge Thackeray thee things Thomas Moore thro tion touch true truth verse William Maginn Wine-red Hand worth wrote Yeats young
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 165 - So come in the evening, or come in the morning, Come when you're looked for, or come without warning, Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you...
Сторінка 28 - They're all together this time, and the end is come. May the Almighty God have mercy on Hartley's soul, and on Michael's soul, and on the souls of Sheamus and Patch, and Stephen and Shawn (bending her head) . . . and may He have mercy on my soul, Nora, and on the soul of everyone is left living in the world.
Сторінка 139 - And tell how now, amid wreck and sorrow, And want, and sickness, and houseless nights, He bides in calmness the silent morrow That no ray lights. And lives he still then? Yes! Old and hoary At thirty-nine, from despair and woe, He lives, enduring what future story Will never know. Him grant a grave to, ye pitying noble, Deep in your bosoms! There let him dwell ! He, too, had tears for all souls in trouble, Here and in hell.
Сторінка 84 - Now, upon SYRIA'S land of roses Softly the light of eve reposes, And, like a glory, the broad sun Hangs over sainted LEBANON ; Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, And whitens with eternal sleet, While summer, in a vale of flowers, Is sleeping rosy at his feet.
Сторінка 247 - With deep affection and recollection I often think of those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, in the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle their magic spells. On this I ponder where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee; With thy bells of Shandon that sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
Сторінка 138 - His mind grew dim. And he fell far through that pit abysmal, The gulf and grave of Maginn and Burns, And pawned his soul for the devil's dismal Stock of returns.
Сторінка 248 - WITH deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, In the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On this I ponder Where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee, — With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
Сторінка 164 - And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell's cruel blow Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky Oh ! why did you leave us, Owen? Why did you die?
Сторінка 49 - DEAR Harp of my country ! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, When proudly, my own Island Harp ! I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song...
Сторінка 248 - 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.