Thomas Osborne Davis
Thomas Osborne Davis was a revolutionary Irish writer who was the chief organizer and poet of the Young Ireland movement.
Thomas Davis was born in the town of Mallow in the county of Cork, the son of a Welsh father, a surgeon in the Royal Artillery, and an Irish mother. His father died one month after his birth and his mother moved to Warrington Place near Mount Street bridge in Dublin. In 1830, they moved to 67 Lower Baggot Street. He attended school in Lower Mount Street before studying in Trinity College, Dublin. He graduated in Law and received an Arts degree in 1836, precursory to his being called to the Irish Bar in 1838.
He established The Nation newspaper with ... more »
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Thomas Osborne Davis Poems
I. She is a rich and rare land; Oh! she's a fresh and fair land;
I The Geraldines! The Geraldines! - 'tis full a thousand years Since, 'mid the Tuscan vineyards, bright flashed their
Come in the evening, or come in the morning; Come when you ’re look’d for, or come without warning:
The Battle Eve Of The Irish Brigade
THE mess-tent is full, and the glasses are set, And the gallant Count Thomond is president yet; The vet’ran arose, like an uplifted lance,
Shall they bury me in the deep, Where wind-forgetting waters sleep? Shall they dig a grave for me, Under the green-wood tree?
Love And War
I. How soft is the moon on Glengariff, The rocks seem to melt with the light:
The Lost Path
AIR--_Grádh mo chroidhe._ I. Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my comfort be, For every hope was false to me,
I. Thrice, at the huts of Fontenoy, the English column failed, And twice the lines of Saint Antoine the Dutch in vain
Oh! The Marriage
Oh! the marriage, the marriage, With love and _mo bhuachaill_ for me, The ladies that ride in a carriage
The Sack Of Baltimore
I. The summer sun is falling soft on Carbery's hundred isles-- The summer sun is gleaming still through Gabriel's rough
I. A Nation's voice, a nation's voice-- It is a solemn thing!
Our Own Again
I. Let the coward shrink aside, We'll have our own again;
Lament For The Death Of Eoghan Ruadh O’N...
“DID they dare, did they dare, to slay Eoghan Ruadh O’Neill?”
The Boatman Of Kinsale
AIR--_An Cota Caol._ I. His kiss is sweet, his word is kind, His love is rich to me
Comments about Thomas Osborne Davis
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
She is a rich and rare land;
Oh! she's a fresh and fair land;
She is a dear and rare land--
This native land of mine.
No men than her's are braver--
Her women's hearts ne'er waver;
I'd freely die to save her,
And think my lot divine.
She's not a dull or cold land;
No! she's a warm and bold land;
Oh! she's a true and old land--
This native land of mine.
Could beauty ever guard her,
And virtue still reward her,
No foe would cross her border--
No friend within it ...