Lough Erne, Enniskillen, Belleek, Ballyshannon, and Bundoran: With Routes from Dublin to Enniskillen and Bundoran, by Rail Or by Steamboat

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Сторінка 25 - The tide did now its flood-mark gain, And girdled in the Saint's domain : For, with the flow and ebb, its style Varies from continent to isle ; Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day, The pilgrims to the shrine find way ; Twice every day, the waves efface Of staves and sandall'd feet the trace.
Сторінка 99 - Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought.
Сторінка 52 - The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, And living as if earth contain'd no tomb, — And glowing into day...
Сторінка 64 - I found in the great fortress of Meath Valour, hospitality, and truth, Bravery, purity, and mirth — The protection of all Ireland. "I found the aged of strict morals The historians recording truth — Each good, each benefit that I have sung In Ireland I have seen.
Сторінка 64 - Much of food, much of raiment. I found gold and silver, I found honey and wheat, I found affection with the people of God, I found banquets and cities. I found in Armagh the splendid, Meekness, wisdom, circumspection, Fasting in obedience to the Son of God, Noble, prosperous sages. I found in each great church, Whether internal, on shore or island, Learning, wisdom, devotion to God, Holy welcome and protection. I found the lay monks Of alms the active advocates, And in proper order with them The...
Сторінка 63 - I found in the fair Inisfail, In Ireland, while in exile, Many women, no silly crowd, Many laics, many clerics. I found in each province Of the five provinces of Ireland, Both in Church and State, Much of food — much of raiment. I found gold and silver, I found honey and wheat, I found affection with the people of God, I found banquets and cities.
Сторінка 142 - NOVEMBER'S sky is chill and drear, November's leaf is red and sear : Late, gazing down the steepy linn, That hems our little garden in, Low in its dark and narrow glen, You scarce the rivulet might ken, So thick the tangled greenwood grew, So feeble trill'd the streamlet through : Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen, Through bush and brier, no longer green, An angry brook, it sweeps the glade, Brawls over rock and wild cascade, And, foaming brown with doubled speed, * Hurries its waters to the...
Сторінка 24 - DID they dare— did they dare, to slay Owen Roe O'Neill?' 'Yes, they slew with poison him they feared to meet with steel.' ' May God wither up their hearts ! May their blood cease to flow ! May they walk in living death who poisoned Owen Roe ! ' Though it break my heart to hear, say again the bitter words.

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