The duke of Monmouth, by the author of 'The Munster festivals'. by G. Griffin

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Page 192 - Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry. Few, few shall part where many meet ! The snow shall be their winding-sheet ; And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
Page 177 - And as they do reply, So give them still the lie. Tell fortune of her blindness, Tell nature of decay, Tell friendship of unkindness, Tell justice of delay. And if they will reply, Then give them all the lie.
Page 366 - O Hesperus ! thou bringest all good things — Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer, To the young bird the parent's brooding wings, The welcome stall to the o'erlabour'd steer ; Whate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings, Whate'er our household gods protect of dear, Are gathered round us by thy look of rest ; Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast.
Page 337 - The words are repeated, The bridal is done, The rite is completed — The two, they are one ; The vow, it is spoken All pure from the heart, That must not be broken Till life shall depart. Hark...
Page 337 - THE joy-bells are ringing In gay Malahide, The fresh wind is singing Along the sea-side ; The maids are assembling With garlands of flowers, And the harpstrings are trembling In all the glad bowers. Swell, swell the gay measure ! Roll trumpet and drum...
Page 245 - To see what solitariness is about dying princes ! as heretofore they have unpeopled towns, divorced friends, and made great houses unhospitable, so now, O justice ! where are their flatterers now ? Flatterers are but the shadows of princes' bodies ; the least thick cloud makes them invisible.
Page 339 - O'er mountain and plain, Up, true men, and follow ! Let dastards remain ! " • Farrah ! to the battle ! They form into line — The shields, how they rattle ! The spears, how they shine...
Page 339 - With foreheads unruffled The conquerors come — But why have they muffled The lance and the drum ? » What form do they carry Aloft on his shield ? And where does he tarry, The lord of the field...
Page 338 - As wakes the good shepherd, The watchful and bold, When the ounce or the leopard Is seen in the fold, So rises already The chief in his mail, While the new-married lady Looks fainting and pale.
Page 340 - O for the maiden Who mourns for that chief, With heart overladen And rending with grief! She sinks on the meadow In one morning-tide, A wife and a widow, A maid and a bride ! Ye maidens attending, Forbear to condole ! Your comfort is rending The depths of her soul.

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