They Know Not My Heart
They know not my heart, who believe there can be One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee; Who think, while I see thee in beauty’s young hour, As pure as the
The Minstrel Boy
The Minstrel-Boy to the war is gone, In the ranks of death you’ll find him; His father’s sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him. “Land of song!” said the
Nay, Tell Me Not, Dear
Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns One charm of feeling, one fond regret; Believe me, a few of thy angry frowns Are all I’ve sunk in its bright wave yet. Ne’er
Sublime Was the Warning
Sublime was the warning that liberty spoke, And grand was the moment when Spaniards awoke Into life and revenge from the conqueror’s chain. Oh, Liberty! let not this spirit have rest, Till it move,
Dear Harp of my Country
Dear 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
Sing, Sweet Harp
Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me Some song of ancient days, Whose sounds, in this sad memory, Long-buried dreams shall raise; Some lay that tells of vanish’d fame, Whose light once round us
The Harp That Once Through Tara's Halls
The harp that once through Tara’s halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls, As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory’s
Corn and Catholics
“What! still those two infernal questions, That with our meals our slumbers mix That spoil our tempers and digestions Eternal Corn and Catholics! Gods! were there ever two such bores? Nothing else talk’d of
Eveleen's Bower
Oh! weep for the hour, When to Eveleen’s bower, The Lord of the Valley with false vows came; The moon hid her light, From the heavens that night, And wept behind her clouds o’er
From This Hour the Pledge is Given
From this hour the pledge is given, From this hour my soul is thine: Come what will, from earth of heaven, Weal or woe, thy fate be mine. When the proud and great stood
Memorabilia of Last Week
Monday, March 13, 1826 The Budget – quite charming and witty – no hearing, For plaudits and laughs, the good things that were in it; Great comfort to find, though the Speech isn’t cheering,
The Meeting of the Waters
There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom
Forget Not the Field
Forget not the field where they perish’d, The truest, the last of the brave, All gone and the bright hope we cherish’d Gone with them, and quench’d in their grave! Oh! could we from
To Ladies' Eyes
To Ladies’ eyes a round, boy, We can’t refuse, we can’t refuse; Though bright eyes so abound, boy, ‘Tis hard to choose, ’tis hard to choose. For thick as stars that lighten Yon airy
Song of the Battle Eve
(Time the Ninth Century) To-morrow, comrade, we On the battle-plain must be, There to conquer, or both lie low! The morning star is up But there’s wine still in the cup, And we’ll take