Ancient Irish Minstrelsy

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Hodges and Smith, 1852 - English poetry - 292 pages
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Page 235 - To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek— There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Page 42 - Such were the words of the bards in the days of song; when the king heard the music of harps, the tales of other times! The chiefs gathered from all their hills, and heard the lovely sound. They praised the voice of Cona!
Page 34 - No wonder, such celestial charms For nine long years have set the world in arms! What winning graces! what majestic mien! She moves a Goddess, and she looks a Queen. Yet hence, oh Heav'n! convey that fatal face, And from destruction save the Trojan race.
Page 225 - They closed full fast on every side, No slackness there was found ; And many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground.
Page 57 - Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed, On Circe's island fell. (Who knows not Circe, The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup Whoever tasted lost his upright shape, And downward fell into a grovelling swine...
Page ix - Yea, truly, I have caused divers of them to be translated unto me, that I might understand them ; and surely they were favoured of sweet wit, and good invention, but skilled not of the goodly ornaments of poetry ; yet were they sprinkled with some pretty flowers of their natural device, which gave good grace and comeliness unto them...
Page 25 - Seven sacred tripods, whose unsullied frame Yet knows no office, nor has felt the flame; Twelve steeds unmatch'd in fleetness and in force, And still victorious in the dusty course; (Rich were the man, whose ample stores exceed...
Page 133 - They fling their weapons down. Each rushes to his hero's grasp : Their sinewy arms bend round each other : they turn from side to side, and strain and stretch their large spreading limbs below. But when the pride of their strength arose, they shook the hill with their heels. Rocks tumble from their places on high ; the green-headed bushes are overturned.
Page 241 - but feeble was the foe !" We fought, nor weak the strife of death ! He sunk beneath my sword. We laid them in two tombs of stone ; the hapless lovers of youth ! Such have I been in my youth, O Oscar ! be thou like the age of Fingal. Never search thou for battle ; nor shun it when it comes.
Page xxvi - In varying cadence, soft or strong, He swept the sounding chords along: The present scene, the future lot, His toils, his wants, were all forgot; Cold diffidence, and age's frost, In the full tide of song were lost; Each blank, in faithless memory void, The poet's glowing thought supplied; And, while his harp responsive rung, 'Twas thus the LATEST MINSTREL sung.

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