#Irish #XIXCentury
HOW did he live, this dead man he… With the temple above his grave? He lived as a great one, from crad… He was nursed in luxury, trained i… When the wish was born, it was gra…
HER hair was a waving bronze, and… Deep wells that might cover a broo… And who, till he weighed it, could… That her heart was a cinder instea…
“AND Smith has made money?” “O, no; that’s a myth: Smith never made money But money made Smith!” A sculptor is Deming—a great man,…
THE day and night are symbols of… And each has part in all that God… There is no ill without its compen… And life and death are only light… There never beat a heart so base a…
CLEAR and bright, from the snowy… The joyous stream to the plain des… Rich sands of gold were washed and… To the turbid marsh where its pure… From stainless snow to the moor be…
THE world was made when a man was… He must taste for himself the forb… He can never take warning from old… He must fight as a boy, he must dr… Of the friend of his soul; he must…
BLESSED are Pain, the smiter, And Sorrow, the uniter! For one afflicted lies— A symboled sacrifice— And all our rancor dies!
The dead who died for Ireland! Oh, these are living words To nerve the hearts of patriots— To steel avenging swords— They thrill the soul when spoken,
‘TWAS a dismal winter’s evening,… But within, the cheerful fire cast… O’er our pleasant little parlor, t… There she sat beside the glowing g… And beyond, within the shadow, in…
“HE is false to the heart!' she s… He promises fair as a tree in blos… The fruit is rotten ere ripe. Tea… All withered and wasted! and still… Comfort? There is no comfort when…
“WHAT bait do you use," said a S… When you fish where the souls of m… “Well, for special tastes,” said t… “Gold and Fame are the best I’ve… “But for common use?” asked the S…
Chicago, October 9,1871. GAUNT in the midst of the prairi… She who was once so fair; Charred and rent are her garments, Heavy and dark like cerements;
JOYS have three stages, Hoping,… The hands of Hope are empty, and… For the joy we take, in the taking… Now, which is the better—the joy u…
St. Patrick’s Day WHAT a onion of hearts is the lo… When races of men in her name unit… For love of Old Erin, and love of… The boards of the Gael are full t…
NEVER nobler was the Senate, Never grander the debate: Rome’s old gods are on their trial By the judges of the state! Torn by warring creeds, the Fathe…
