The Sprig of Shillelah: A Collection of the Most Humorous and Popular Irish Songs

David Bryce, 1852 - 336 Seiten
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Seite 278 - With deep affection and recollection I often think of those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, in the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle their magic spells. On this I ponder, where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee ; With thy bells of Shandon that sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
Seite 279 - I've heard bells tolling Old Adrian's Mole in, Their thunder rolling From the Vatican, And cymbals glorious Swinging uproarious In the gorgeous turrets Of Notre Dame ; But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly.
Seite 7 - tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More. " Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teased me enough; Sure, I've thrashed, for your sake, Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff; And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste, So I think, after that, I may talk to the priest.
Seite 7 - Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck, So soft and so white, without freckle or speck ; And he...
Seite 54 - Bacchus' sons be not dismayed, But join with me each jovial blade Come booze and sing, and lend your aid To help me with the chorus; Instead of Spa we'll drink brown ale, And pay the reckoning on the nail; No man for debt shall go to gaol From Garryowen in glory!
Seite 241 - Her cheeks were red, her eyes were blue. Her hair was brown, of deepest hue, Her foot was small, and neat to view, Her waist was slight and taper. Her voice was music to your ear, A lovely brogue, so rich and clear, Oh, the like I ne'er again shall hear As from sweet Mary Draper. " She'd ride a wall, she'd drive a team, Or with a fly she'd whip a stream, Or maybe sing you ' Rousseau's Dream,' For nothing could escape her ; I've seen her, too — upon my word — At sixty yards bring down her bird.
Seite 6 - Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry (Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye), "With your tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm about, Faith, you've teased till I've put on my cloak inside out.
Seite 273 - We'll all be there. To meet the French in the morning. May his bright laurels never fade, Who leads our fighting fifth brigade. Those lads so true in heart and blade, And famed for danger scorning ; So join me in one hip, hurra, And drink e'en to the coming day.
Seite 126 - THE Groves of Blarney They look so charming Down by the purling, Of sweet silent streams. Being banked with posies That spontaneous grow there, Planted in order By the sweet 'Rock Close'.
Seite 31 - So lovely the Widow Malone. Of lovers she had a full score, Or more; And fortunes they all had galore, In store; From the minister down To the clerk of the crown, All were courting the Widow Malone, Ohone!

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