The Poems and Stories of Fitz-James OBrien Fitz-James OBrien

ISBN: 9780217305129

Published:

Paperback

268 pages


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The Poems and Stories of Fitz-James OBrien  by  Fitz-James OBrien

The Poems and Stories of Fitz-James OBrien by Fitz-James OBrien
| Paperback | PDF, EPUB, FB2, DjVu, audiobook, mp3, ZIP | 268 pages | ISBN: 9780217305129 | 4.60 Mb

This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1881. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... But ah the path is steep and dark, The jaggedMoreThis historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index.

Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1881. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... But ah the path is steep and dark, The jagged rocks lie far below- And heaven must help the wight who slips, Up where those treacherous mosses grow.

At last he comes she hears his step But ah what means that fearful crash? Down the steep cliff a dark shape falls, -- From rock to rock she sees it dash. Was it for this you waited long, O loving heart O hapless child Dead at her feet her lover lies, Down in the glen at Idlewild WANTED -- SAINT PATRICK. I. When Irish hills were fair and green, And Irish fields were white with daisies, And harvests, golden and serene, Slept in the lazy summer hazes- When bards went singing through the land Their grand old songs of knightly story, And hearts were found in every hand, And all was peace, and love, and glory- -- T was in those happy, happy days When every peasant lived in clover, And in the pleasant woodland ways One never met the begging rover- When all was honest, large, and true, And naught was hollow or theatric- -- T was in those days of golden hue That Erin knew the great Saint Patrick He came among the rustics rude With shining robes and splendid crosier, And swayed the listening multitude As breezes sway the beds of osier.

He preached the love of man for man, And moved the unlettered Celt with wonder, Till through the simple crowd there ran A murmur like repeated thunder. He preached the grand Incarnate Word By rock and ruin, hill and hollow, Till warring princes dropped the sword And left the fields of blood to follow. For never yet did bardic song, Though graced with harp and poets diction, With such strange charm enchain the throng As that sad tale of crucifixion. in. Though fair the isle and brave the men, Yet still a blight the land infested- Green vipers darted through each glen, And snakes withi...



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