Her Irish Lover: a Romance

Hamilton, Adams & Company, 1884 - 179 pàgines

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Pàgina 133 - Yea, the sparrow hath found an house, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even thine altars, O Lord of hosts, my King, and my God.
Pàgina 85 - Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, An' fill it in a silver tassie ; That I may drink before I go A service to my bonnie lassie : The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry, The ship rides by the Berwick-law, And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glittering spears are ranked ready ; The shouts o...
Pàgina 105 - Where all should pause, as is most meet for all ? A soft air fans the cloud apart ; there comes A glimpse of that dark world where I was born.
Pàgina 77 - LORD, how manifold are thy works! In wisdom hast thou made them all: The earth is full of thy riches.
Pàgina 101 - For each glance of the eye so bright and black, Though I keep with heart's endeavour, — Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back, Though it stay in my soul for ever ! — Yet I will but say what mere friends say, Or only a thought stronger ; I will hold your hand but as long as all may, Or so very little longer...
Pàgina 120 - He was full of joke and jest, But all his merry quips are o'er. To see him die, across the waste His son and heir doth ride post-haste, But he'll be dead before.
Pàgina 164 - A moment after, and hands unseen Were hanging the night around us fast; But we knew that a bar was broken between Life and life: we were mixed at last In spite of the mortal screen.
Pàgina 17 - We two stood there with never a third, But each by each, as each knew well : The sights we saw and the sounds we heard, The lights and the shades made up a spell Till the trouble grew and stirred.
Pàgina 53 - ... purpose waste in air : So waste not thou ; but come ; for all the vales Await thee; azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee ; the children call, and I Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees.
Pàgina 109 - E'en death to die for thee. Thou art my life, my love, my heart, The very eyes of me: And hast command of every part, To live and die for thee.

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