The Ballad Poetry of IrelandSir Charles Gavan Duffy |
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Common terms and phrases
astór ballads Bawn beauty blessing blood bogwood fire bonnie green woods bosom Boyne Boyne Water bride bright brow Castle Chealleadh dark daughter dear death e'er EDWARD WALSH Erin Erin's eyes fair fairy father GERALD GRIFFIN glory gone grave grief hand heart heaven hill Innisfail Ireland Irish JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN JEREMIAH JOSEPH CALLANAN JOHN BANIM keep your powder King land Lillibulero lonely Lord loud MacCaura machree maid maiden Malahide Malahide Castle Mary Mo craoibhin cno morning mother mountain Munster native ne'er never night o'er ogh hone orro poetry poor powder dry pride proud put your trust Rapparee Reilly river Lee Rory O'Moore round SAMUEL FERGUSON Saxon sleep Soggarth aroon songs sorrow soul spirit sweet sword tears thee thou Three Cows Turlough Turloughmore Twas Ulster voice wave wild Woman of Three woods of Killeevy young
Popular passages
Page 101 - 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. We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow!
Page 101 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him ! But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring, And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing.
Page 52 - I'M sittin' on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side On a bright May mornin' long ago, When first you were my bride : The corn was springin' fresh and green. And the lark sang loud and high— And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary, The day is bright as then, The lark's loud song is in my ear, And the corn is green again ; But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your breath, warm on my cheek, And I still keep list'nin' for the...
Page 243 - Oh! the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the River Lee.
Page 219 - The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery fearful show, — The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy, lurid row Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe; As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster slow Sinks on the anvil, — -all about the faces fiery grow, — "Hurrah!" they shout, " leap out, leap out": bang, bang, the sledges go; Hurrah!
Page 219 - And, thick and loud, the swinking crowd at every stroke pant "ho!" Leap out, leap out, my masters! leap out, and lay on load! Let's forge a goodly anchor — a bower thick and broad; For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode; And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road, — The low reef roaring on her lee; the...
Page 53 - I'll not forget you darling, In the land I'm going to ; They say there's bread and work for all; And the sun shines always there, — But I'll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fair ! MY LOVER SANG.
Page 149 - ... the speechless three — For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away, By whom they dare not look to see They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks of gold, And the curls elastic falling, as her head withdraws ; They feel her sliding arms from their tranced arms unfold, But they...
Page 243 - I've heard bells tolling Old Adrian's mole in, Their thunder rolling From the Vatican, And cymbals glorious Swinging uproarious In the gorgeous turrets Of Notre Dame; But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly.
Page 101 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him, But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. 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.