This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1893 Excerpt: ...sore, --I shall not see the sun rise any more, Nor care again for Cleena's stormy shore. These Spanish, we did think them gallant men, On the sad tide in Ireland's story when Their promise brought us unto doom again. And now I die--but ere I go, O priest! Not for a blessing, which I value least But on the past my ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1893 Excerpt: ...sore, --I shall not see the sun rise any more, Nor care again for Cleena's stormy shore. These Spanish, we did think them gallant men, On the sad tide in Ireland's story when Their promise brought us unto doom again. And now I die--but ere I go, O priest! Not for a blessing, which I value least But on the past my wavering thought to feast. I call the story of my manhood up; I thank the gods, while yet a man I sup On death; that is life's overflowing cup! "Confess and be absolved?" I cannot tell! I loved the love of women overwell; And I did fight, perhaps, like gods in hell. An Irish soldier of fortune, this was I; And even for this, lo! I am come to die, And no kind woman's kiss my life shall buy. I had no people and no fatherland, --No God or hope, save only my right hand, --And it, I trow, did wield a bitter brand! Ximene! How her eyes were dark and bright! They shine on me through death's intensest night; Her black hair blinds, even yet, my waning sight. I saw her in the hall where dances were, --My soul kissed hers, where'er her shape did stir; And well I knew my hope was made of her. How sweet the shape of woman's shapely limbs! Sad is it--but for this my vision dims, --I hear again a singing as of hymns! I saw her weave the mazes of the dance--An Irish soldier born but for mischance--How should my frame allure a woman's glance? But Spanish bravoes, singing in the sun, Drink the rich juice of love, from woman won, By Guadalquiver and by Amazon. Soft by the sunny banks unused to snow, The fires of love with higher passion glow. Christ! how their lusts like lava torrents flow. But something in a war that lasts awhile May tire a sudden race to war and guile; And even now, O monk, I choose to smile! Caramba! How the oath frights the mustache! But not...
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