#Irish #Women #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Bring to her spring flowers, Cowslip and celandine, And bid her hear the blackbird’s s… Let pass the sunny hours In her dull room to shine,
WHAT is balm for a soul distress… ‘A good ship in a fighting wind… The leaping timbers ‘neath your fe… Never soul could mourn, my sister,… What is joy for a stricken heart,…
Haste, maiden, haste! the spray ha… The dawn creeps o’er the heavens g… Come, see the bud ere breaking, th… ‘A moment, Time, until I bind my… Come, maiden, come! the bud has bu…
Who was stealing the Baron’s wine… Golden sherry and port so old, Precious, I wot, as drops of gold… Lone to-night he came to dine, Flung himself in his oaken chair,
With a knock upon the window comes… ’Tis his step upon the threshold;… ‘Oh, will you up and follow, swift… By mountain hill and hollow?’ said… Said the brave volunteer, said the…
He was the son of a hunting squire And heir to a fair estate, And she but an humble serving maid Who opened his father’s gate. He thought her sweet as the garden…
Thrice in the night the priest aro… From broken sleep to kneel and pra… ‘Hush, poor ghost, till the red co… And I a Mass for your soul may sa… Thrice he went to the chamber cold…
This is my brave singer, With his beak of gold; Now my heart’s a captive In his song’s sweet hold. O, the lark’s a rover,
Woe to the House of Breffni, and… Woe to us all in Erinn for the sh… And cursed be you, Dearvorgil, wh… And ruin brought to Erinn with th… It is the Prince of Breffni rides…
‘Every dog has his day.’ Well, dear, do you remember, How you and I found a golden day In the midst of a bleak December? You smiled at the chance of our me…
Never again, my darling, never aga… Till the gates of God are open fo… May we join our parted hands that… Ere Death’s cold fingers closed o… Feeling palm from palm was slippin…
Madge Linsey at the well raised t… Brimmed her brass bucket full, wen… Loose hung her collar her full thr… Rough fell her silken hair, sullen… Went down the village street jaunt…
Half seated on a mossy crag, Half crouching in the heather; I found a little Irish maid, All in June’s golden weather. Like some fond hand that loved the…
A Prayer in Time of War Whence comes the rain that ceasele… And seems to hold the bitter taste… Is it the lonely sorrow of the nig… Where patient women shed their hop…
Once she woke to fairyland, Now she wakes to grief, All the golden days are gone, Lost by time—the thief. Once she sprang to meet the dawn,