Reisen in Irland, Volume 2

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Arnoldische Buchhandlung, 1843

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Page 60 - THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet, As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ; Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.
Page i - When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, Call my spirit from this stormy world? Sadly, oh Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping, Fate bids me languish long ages away; Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping, Still doth the pure light its dawning delay. When will that day-star, mildly springing, Warm our isle with peace and love ? When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, Call my spirit to the fields above?
Page 63 - THE harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more.
Page 74 - BY that Lake, whose gloomy shore Sky-lark never warbles o'er, ')' "Where the cliff hangs high and steep, Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep. " Here, at least," he calmly said, " Woman ne'er shall find my bed.
Page 63 - And through ages of bondage and slaughter, Our country shall bleed for thy shame. Already the curse is upon her, And strangers her valleys profane ; They come to divide — to dishonour, And tyrants they long will remain. But onward ! — the green banner rearing, Go, flesh every sword to the hilt ; On our side is Virtue and Erin, On theirs is the Saxon and guilt.
Page 61 - While but to fed how fair is mine ! Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well, And long may light around thee smile, As soft as on that evening fell When first I saw thy fairy isle...

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