The ballads of Ireland, collected and ed. by E. Hayes

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Edward Hayes (collector of ballads)
1856
 

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Strona 92 - 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...
Strona 21 - And still upon that face I look, And think 'twill smile again ; And still the thought I will not brook, That I must look in vain ! But when I speak— thou dost not say, What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ; And now I feel, as well I may, Sweet Mary ! thou art dead ! III.
Strona 121 - A BABY was sleeping, Its mother was weeping, For her husband was far on the wild raging sea ; And the tempest was swelling Round the fisherman's dwelling, And she cried, " Dermot, darling, oh come back to me...
Strona 319 - Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Strona 11 - O, MY Dark Rosaleen, Do not sigh, do not weep ! The priests are on the ocean green, They march along the deep. There's wine from the royal Pope, Upon the ocean green ; And Spanish ale shall give you hope, My Dark Rosaleen ! My own Rosaleen ! Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope, Shall give you health, and help, and hope, My Dark Rosaleen...
Strona 13 - Wake many a glen serene, Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! The Judgment Hour must first be nigh, Ere you can fade, ere you can die, My Dark Rosaleen!
Strona 373 - Murmuring, he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard, That generous actions meet a base reward. While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, The changing skies hang out their sable clouds; A sound in air presaged approaching rain, And beasts to covert, scud across the plain. Warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, To seek...
Strona 121 - The dawn of the morning Saw Dermot returning, And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see ; And closely caressing Her child with a blessing, Said, " I knew that the angels were whispering with thee.
Strona 320 - King, and royal craftsmen we ; Strike in, strike in, the sparks begin to dull their rustling red! Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped; Our anchor soon must change...
Strona 318 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

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