Lights and shades of Ireland

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Página 370 - Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Página 371 - OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. OH ! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid : Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.
Página 216 - For all this his anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still.
Página 235 - For who maketh thee to differ from another? and what hast thou that thou didst not receive? now if thou didst receive it, why dost thou glory, as if thou hadst not received it?
Página 67 - ... captain, who was one of the commissioners, being fairly treated, yielded up the castle to us, upon the top of which our men no sooner appeared, but the enemy quitted the walls of the town, which our men perceiving, ran violently upon the town with their ladders, and stormed it.
Página 353 - He had lived for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him ; Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him. Oh ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest When they promise a glorious morrow ; They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West, From her own loved island of sorrow.
Página 65 - I am persuaded that this is a righteous judgment of God upon these barbarous wretches, who have imbrued their hands in so much innocent blood ; and that it will tend to prevent the effusion of blood for the future. Which are the satisfactory grounds to such actions, which otherwise cannot but work remorse and regret.
Página 374 - The Great Spirit is no respecter of persons; He has made of one blood all the nations of the earth; He loves all his children alike; and his highest attributes are love, mercy, and justice.
Página vi - 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.
Página 309 - EARTH, of man the bounteous mother, Feeds him still with corn and wine ; He who best would aid a brother, Shares with him these gifts divine.

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