The Poems of Thomas Davis

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P. M. Haverty, 1854 - 251 pages

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Page 75 - So come in the evening, or come in the morning, Come when you're looked for, or come without warning, Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you...
Page 139 - We thought you would not die — we were sure you would not go, And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell's cruel blow Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky Oh ! why did you leave us, Owen? Why did you die?
Page 133 - And full of love, and peace, and rest — its daily labour o'er — Upon that cosy creek there lay the town of Baltimore. A deeper rest, a starry trance, has come with midnight there; No sound, except that throbbing wave, in earth, or sea, or air, The massive capes, and ruined towers, seem conscious of the calm; The fibrous sod and stunted trees are breathing heavy balm. So still the night, these two long barques, round Dunashad that glide Must trust their oars— methinks not few — against the...
Page 135 - Then sunk the grandsire on the floor, his grandbabes clutching wild ; Then fled the maiden moaning faint, and nestled with the child ; But see, yon pirate strangled lies, and crushed with splashing heel, While o'er him in an Irish hand there sweeps his Syrian steel — Though virtue sink, and courage fail, and misers yield their store...
Page 75 - We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy, We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river, Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her.
Page 75 - I'll adore you ! Light is my heart since the day we were plighted ; Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted ; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, And the linnets are singing,
Page 137 - Did they dare, did they dare, to slay Owen Roe O'Neill?" "Yes, they slew with poison him, they feared to meet with steel." May God wither up their hearts! May their blood cease to flow! May they walk in living death, who poisoned Owen Roe! "Though it break my heart to hear, say again the bitter words.
Page 94 - WHEN boyhood's fire was in my blood, I read of ancient freemen, For Greece and Rome who bravely stood, THREE HUNDRED MEN and THREE MEN.* And then I prayed I yet might see Our fetters rent in twain, And Ireland, long a province, be A NATION ONCE AGAIN.

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