Lights and Shades of Ireland: In Three Parts. Part I.--Early History. Part II.--Saints, Kings, and Poets, of the Early Ages. Part. III.-The Famine of 1847, '48, & '49

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Houlston and Stoneman, 1850 - 444 páginas

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Página 388 - 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 389 - 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 371 - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers around her are sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying.
Página 216 - For all this his anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still.
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 64 - I forbade them to spare any that were in arms in the town: and, I think, that night they put to the sword about 2,000 men...
Página 392 - 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 67 - Town ; which our men perceiving, ran violently upon the Town with their ladders, and stormed it. And when they were come into the market-place, the Enemy making a stiff resistance, our forces brake them; and then put all to the sword that came in their way.
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 326 - 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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