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allow appearance approached arms assured beautiful become began believe better bright called Catherine Catherine's child close Court cousin dark door doubt dream entered excited expression eyes face fall Father Maguire fear feeling fell felt followed friends gave gaze Geraldine girl give glance hand happy head hear heard heart hope hour imagined Ireland knew latter leave light Lionel listened live looked Maitland manner means mind Miss Miss Maitland moment nature never night O'Neile once Otway passed Pierce poor possess present priest raised reached reason remained round seemed seen short shure side silence soon sound speak stood strange sure taken tell things thought till took turned uncle voice watched wild wished woman wonder young
Page 17 - THE DAY IS DONE. THE day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, 'That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Page 63 - Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green : One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain...
Page 195 - Cowards die many times before their deaths ; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear ; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come, when it will come.
Page 47 - or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door — Darkness there and nothing more.
Page 63 - No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way. Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away, thy children leave the land.
Page 175 - That in the antique Oratory shook His bosom in its solitude ; and then — As in that hour— a moment o'er his face The tablet of unutterable thoughts Was traced...
Page 142 - Yet, all its sad recollections suppressing, One dying wish my lone bosom can draw : Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing ! Land of my forefathers ! Erin go bragh ! Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion, Green be thy fields, — sweetest isle of the ocean ! And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion, — Erin mavournin — Erin go bragh !* * Ireland my darling,— Ireland for ever.
Page 126 - But the old mansion, and the accustom'd hall, And the remember'd chambers, and the place, The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shade, All things pertaining to that place and hour, And her who was his destiny, came back And thrust themselves between him and the light : What business had they there at such a time?