Landscape Illustrations of Moore's Irish Melodies: With Comments for the Curious ... [Part 1]

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J. Power, 1835 - Ireland - 64 pages
 

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Page 18 - I come with humble heart to share " Thy morn and evening prayer ; " Nor mine the feet, oh ! holy Saint, " The brightness of thy sod to taint.
Page 47 - Her smile when Beauty granted, I hung with gaze enchanted, Like him, the Sprite, Whom maids by night, Oft meet in glen that's haunted. Like him, too, Beauty won me. But while her eyes were on me, If once their ray Was turn'd away, O!
Page 8 - Nor a seat e'en so hallowed as this can impart The fancy and fire that must spring from the heart. So I rise, since the Muses continue to frown, No more of a poet than when I sat down ; While ROGERS, on whom they look kindly, can strike Their lyre, at all times, in all places, alike.
Page 43 - I and two young men who followed me, found it a very tight fit when crouched together in it : at the further end there is a sort of pillow and peculiar excavation made for the saint's head ; and the whole of the interior is tattooed with the initials of such as have adventured to come in.
Page 37 - The ruins of many ecclesiastical structures yet remain, and " the long, continuous shadow of the lofty and slender Round Tower moves slowly, from morn till eve, over wasted churches, crumbling oratories, shattered crosses, scathed yew trees, and tombs, now undistinguishable, of bishops, abbots, and anchorites...
Page 47 - Indeed, then, your lordship, before Captain Rock's time, the rebel Dwyer used to shelter himself in the bed — General O'Dwyer, I mean; and mighty proud he was of that same great O. Sure he would write it before his name so large that it looked among the other letters just like a turkey's egg in a hen's nest.
Page 7 - Who has e'er had the luck to see Donnybrook Fair? An Irishman, all in his glory, is there, With his sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green!
Page 50 - Irish harper, and sang an ancient song to his harp. His lordship, not understanding Irish, was at a loss to know the meaning of the song ; but upon inquiry, he found the substance of it to be this, that in such a place, naming the very spot, a man of gigantic stature lay buried ; and that over his breast and back were plates of pure gold, and on his fingers rings of gold so large that an ordinary man might creep through them.
Page 52 - There never bounds the deer ; But during night strange sounds are heard, The day may never hear : For there the shrouded Banshee stands, Scarce seen amid the gloom, And wrings her dim and shadowy hands, And chants her song of doom. Seven pillars, grey with time and moss, On dark Sleive Monard meet ; They stand to tell a nation's loss — A king is at their feet. A lofty moat denotes the place Where sleeps in slumber cold The mighty of a mighty race — The giant kings of old. There...

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