Irish Protestant Letters, Etc., Etc. By R. R. B. Dublin: Also, an Address on Ireland, the Cradle of European Literature. By Rev. J. B. Finlay ... To which is Added a Choice Collection of Original and Selected Poetry
De Witt & Davenport, 1855 - 166 ページ
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American ancient appear battle beauty beneath bishop blood bound boys brave British buildings called cause century child Christian Church civil College dark dead death Dublin England English Europe eyes fact faith fathers feet field foreign freedom friends given glorious glory green hand hath heart heaven hills honor House hundred influence Ireland Irish Irishmen Isles Italy John King land laws learning Letter liberty light literature lived look Lord meet memory mountain murdered native natural never night noble o'er once Papal Papists passed persons Pope Popery popish present principles Protestant received Reformation religion religious remain Roman Rome Romish Saxon Scots shore side sleep songs sons soul spirit stand tell thee thou thousand true Ulster University voice walls wave
108 ページ - And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
108 ページ - Mayenne hath turned his rein. D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish count is slain. Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale ; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, " Remember St. Bartholomew," was passed from man to man. But out spake gentle Henry, " No Frenchman is my foe : Down, down, with every foreigner, but let your brethren go.
35 ページ - He heard it, but he heeded not, — his eyes Were with his heart, 'and that was far away. He recked not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Daci.an mother, — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman holiday! — All this rushed with his blood. — Shall he expire And unavenged? — Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire!
108 ページ - Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the Golden Lilies — upon them with the lance. A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ; And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.
108 ページ - Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre.
76 ページ - As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well ; For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch concentered all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.
156 ページ - Nothing can convince tyrants of their folly but gunpowder and steel, so put your trust in God my boys and keep your powder dry.
123 ページ - I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine On the vine-clad hills of Bingen,— fair Bingen on the Rhine. "I saw the blue Rhine sweep along: I heard, or seemed to hear, The German songs we used to...
108 ページ - Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre! Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne! Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return: Ho! Philip, send for charity, thy Mexican pistoles. That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls!