The Irish legend of M'Donnell and the Norman De Borgos, Volumen383

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Página 200 - And Erin, once the Great and Free, Now vainly mourns her breakless chain, And iron thrall! Then, daughter of O'Donnell! dry Thine overflowing eyes, and turn Thy heart aside! For Adam's race is born to die, And sternly the sepulchral urn Mocks human pride!
Página 195 - So lone and lovely, through this bleak way ? Are Erin's sons so good or so cold As not to be tempted by woman or gold ? " "Sir Knight ! I feel not the least alarm, No son of Erin will offer me harm : For, though they love women and golden store, Sir Knight ! they love honour and virtue more.
Página 200 - And Thou, O mighty LORD ! whose ways Are far above our feeble minds To understand, Sustain us in these doleful days, And render light the chain that binds Our fallen land ! Look down upon our dreary state, And through the ages that may still Roll sadly on, Watch Thou o'er hapless Erin's fate, And shield at least from darker ill The blood of Conn ! PAGE 283.
Página 200 - Look not, nor sigh, for earthly throne, Nor place thy trust in arm of clay — But on thy knees Uplift thy soul to GOD alone, For all things go their destined way As He decrees. Embrace the faithful Crucifix, And seek the path of pain and prayer Thy Saviour trod; Nor let thy spirit intermix With earthly hope and worldly care Its groans to God!
Página 63 - Dost thou not behold, Malvina, a rock with its head of heath? Three aged pines bend from its face; green is the narrow plain at its feet ; there the flower of the mountain grows, and shakes its white head in the breeze.
Página 198 - O'Donnell, Dunnasava's chief, Cut off amid his vernal years, Lies here a corse Beside his brother Cathbar, whom Tirconnell of the Helmets mourns In deep despair — For valour, truth, and comely bloom, For all that greatens and adorns, A peerless pair. O, had these twain, and he, the third, The Lord of Mourne, O'Niall's son, Their mate in death — A prince in look, in deed and word...
Página 56 - As the sudden rising of winds ; or distant rolling of troubled seas, when some dark ghost, in wrath heaves the billows over an isle : an isle, the seat of mist, on the deep, for many dark-brown years ! So terrible is the sound of the host, wide-moving over the field. Gaul is tall before them. The streams glitter within his strides. The bards raise the song by his side. He strikes his shield between. On the skirts of the blast, the tuneful voices rise.
Página 69 - ghosts of my fathers ! bend !" Such was my song, in Selma, to the lightlytrembling harp. But Nathos was on Erin's shore, surrounded by the night. He heard the voice of the foe, amidst the roar of tumbling waves. Silent he heard their voice, and rested on his spear ! Morning rose, with its beams. The sons of Erin appear, like grey rocks, with all their trees, they spread along the coast.
Página 198 - The youths whose relics moulder here Were sprung from Hugh, high Prince and Lord Of Aileach's lands ! Thy noble brothers, justly dear, Thy nephew, long to be deplored By Ulster's bands. Theirs were not souls wherein dull Time Could domicile Decay or house Decrepitude...
Página 200 - Then, daughter of O'Donnell! dry Thine overflowing eyes, and turn Thy heart aside. For Adam's race is born to die, And sternly the sepulchral urn Mocks human pride! Look not, nor sigh, for earthly throne, Nor place thy trust in arm of clay — But on thy knees Uplift thy soul to God alone, For all things go their destined way As he decrees.

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