The Lay of an Irish Harp: Or, Metrical Fragments

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Richard Phillips, 1807 - 199

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Strona 51 - The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended ; and, I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren.
Strona 9 - How soft the music of those village bells, Falling at intervals upon the ear In cadence sweet, now dying all away, Now pealing loud again, and louder still, Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on ! With easy force it opens all the cells Where Memory slept. Wherever I have heard A kindred melody, the scene recurs, And with it all its pleasures and its pains.
Strona 198 - Hon. Lady MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU, now first published, by permission, from the original manuscripts in the possession of the most noble the Marquis of Bute; none of which had hitherto been printed, excepting an imperfect copy of the letters from Constantinople.
Strona 99 - DAWN. THERE is a soft and fragrant hour — Sweet, fresh, reviving, is its power ; 'Tis when a ray Steals from the veil of parting night, And by its mild prelusive light, Foretells the day. 'Tis when some ling'ring stars scarce shed O'er the mist-clad mountain's head Their fairy beam ; Then one by one, retiring, shroud, Dim glitt'ring through a fleecy cloud, Their last faint gleam.
Strona 101 - While softly fly Those doubtful mists., that leave to view Each glowing scene of various hue That charms the eye. 'Tis when the sea-girt turret's brow Receives the East's first kindling glow, And the dark wave, Swelling to meet the orient gleam, Reflects the warmly-strengthening beam It seems to lave. 'Tis when the restless child of sorrow, Watching the wish'd-for rising morrow, His couch foregoes, And seeks midst scenes so sweet, so mild, To soothe those pangs so keen, so wild, Of hopeless woes....
Strona 140 - Mr. Gallini tells us, that at Limoges, not long ago, the people used to dance the round in the choir of the church, which is under the invocation of their patron saint ; and at the end of each psalm, instead of the Gloria Patri, they sang as follows : u St. Marcel I pray for us, and we will dance in honour of you.
Strona 102 - Tis when the restless child of sorrow, Watching the wished-for rising morrow, His couch foregoes, And seeks 'midst scenes so sweet, so mild, To soothe those pangs so keen, so wild, Of hopeless woes. Nor day, nor night, this hour can claim, Nor moonlight ray, nor noontide beam, Does it betray ; But fresh, reviving, dewy, sweet, It hastes the glowing hours to meet Of rising day.
Strona 98 - There is a soft and fragrant hour — Sweet, fresh, reviving is its power ; 'Tis when a ray Steals from the veil of parting night, And by its mild prelusive light Foretells the day. 'Tis when some ling'ring stars scarce shed O'er the mist-clad mountain's head Their fairy beam ; Then one by one retiring, shroud, Dim glitt'ring through a fleecy cloud, Their last faint beam. 'Tis when (just waked from transient death By some fresh zephyr's balmy breath), Th...
Strona 139 - Theatre, the part of an old Grandmother was assigned to Mrs. Fryer, an Irish woman, who had quitted the stage in the reign of Charles the Second, and...
Strona xv - ring droops its Shamrock wreath? Why has that song of sweetness died Which Erin's Harp alone can breathe?

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