Nova Hibernia: Irish Poets and Dramatists of Today and Yesterday |
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Page 17
... given to the mystic and the spiritual , to which his Celtic heritage naturally inclines him ; and he has made more of these elements than any pre- ceding Irish poet . Moore , who remains un- rivaled as a lyric melodist singing of love ...
... given to the mystic and the spiritual , to which his Celtic heritage naturally inclines him ; and he has made more of these elements than any pre- ceding Irish poet . Moore , who remains un- rivaled as a lyric melodist singing of love ...
Page 21
... given , ready in the furtherance of his ideals to " attack things that are as dear to many as some holy image carried hither and thither by some broken clan . " I think it was well for him all the same that he was not born and bred in ...
... given , ready in the furtherance of his ideals to " attack things that are as dear to many as some holy image carried hither and thither by some broken clan . " I think it was well for him all the same that he was not born and bred in ...
Page 36
... some speeches in which he invokes the " Holy Father " and the " Scarlet Cardinals of the Court of Rome . " In the given situation nothing could be more exquisitely comic and at the same time , more natural 36 NOVA HIBERNIA.
... some speeches in which he invokes the " Holy Father " and the " Scarlet Cardinals of the Court of Rome . " In the given situation nothing could be more exquisitely comic and at the same time , more natural 36 NOVA HIBERNIA.
Page 40
... Still the wondrous voice sang on , a mur- mur of polite applause rising at each cessa- tion of the music . But ere the final bravos came , one overburthened heart had given such token of its emotion as to gain a lasting 40 NOVA HIBERNIA.
... Still the wondrous voice sang on , a mur- mur of polite applause rising at each cessa- tion of the music . But ere the final bravos came , one overburthened heart had given such token of its emotion as to gain a lasting 40 NOVA HIBERNIA.
Page 42
... given a fallacious hope to the friends of Ireland . The touch is one of the neatest of Mr. Thack- eray's satirical humour , but it is scarcely a half truth . Moore himself tells us : " Luckily the list of benefits showered upon . me ...
... given a fallacious hope to the friends of Ireland . The touch is one of the neatest of Mr. Thack- eray's satirical humour , but it is scarcely a half truth . Moore himself tells us : " Luckily the list of benefits showered upon . me ...
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Common terms and phrases
Anacreon beautiful better blood bright brilliant Brooke Byron Cáhál Mór century character classic Cork Costigan critics dark Rosaleen Davis dear death Dickens dream Dublin English Erin eyes fair Hills faith fame famous fancy Father Prout feeling Fontenoy Francis Sylvester Mahony Fraser's Fraser's Magazine genius Gerald Griffin gifted glory Gougaune hath heart Hills of Eire honour hope immortal Ireland Irish Melodies Irish patriotism Irish poet Irishman James Clarence Mangan Jeffrey Lalla Rookh land less light literary literature lived Lord Lord Byron Mangan Moore's Muse never Nora Creina NOVA HIBERNIA o'er passion perhaps poem poet's poetical poetry priest prose race river Lee School for Scandal Sheridan song soul spirit story Synge Thackeray thee things Thomas Moore thro tion touch true truth verse William Maginn Wine-red Hand worth wrote Yeats young
Popular passages
Page 165 - 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 50 - That ev'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee stilL Dear Harp of my Country! farewell to thy numbers, This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine ! Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers, Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than mine ; If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone ; I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over, And all the wild sweetness I wak:d was thy own.
Page 80 - I'd touch her neck so warm and white. And I would be the girdle About her dainty dainty waist, And her heart would beat against me, In sorrow and in rest: And I should know if it beat right, I'd clasp it round so close and tight. And I would be the necklace...
Page 49 - Harp of my country ! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, When proudly, my own Island Harp ! I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song...
Page 139 - And tell how now, amid wreck and sorrow, And want, and sickness, and houseless nights, He bides in calmness the silent morrow That no ray lights. And lives he still then? Yes! Old and hoary At thirty-nine, from despair and woe, He lives, enduring what future story Will never know. Him grant a grave to, ye pitying noble, Deep in your bosoms! There let him dwell ! He, too, had tears for all souls in trouble, Here and in hell.
Page 84 - Now, upon SYRIA'S land of roses Softly the light of eve reposes, And, like a glory, the broad sun Hangs over sainted LEBANON ; Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, And whitens with eternal sleet, While summer, in a vale of flowers, Is sleeping rosy at his feet.
Page 71 - As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow, While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny smile, Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while.
Page 247 - With deep affection and recollection I often think of those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, in the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle their magic spells. On this I ponder where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee; With thy bells of Shandon that sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
Page 138 - His mind grew dim. And he fell far through that pit abysmal, The gulf and grave of Maginn and Burns, And pawned his soul for the devil's dismal Stock of returns.
Page 248 - WITH deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, In the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On this I ponder Where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee, — With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.