The Cabinet of Irish Literature: Selections from the Works of the Chief Poet, Orators, and Prose Writers of Ireland, Volume 1Blackie and Son, 1893 - Irish literature |
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Page 7
... dear little Isle where I send you , For those who will welcome , and speed , and be- friend you ; For the green hills of Erin that still hold my heart there , Though stain'd with the blood of the patriot and martyr , My blessing attend ...
... dear little Isle where I send you , For those who will welcome , and speed , and be- friend you ; For the green hills of Erin that still hold my heart there , Though stain'd with the blood of the patriot and martyr , My blessing attend ...
Page 8
... dear letter ! And bring her my blessing , And bring her my blessing ! [ Gerald Nugent was , says Hardiman in his Irish Minstrelsy , the " son of a settler , ” that is , he was one of those Irishmen of English descent of whom it was ...
... dear letter ! And bring her my blessing , And bring her my blessing ! [ Gerald Nugent was , says Hardiman in his Irish Minstrelsy , the " son of a settler , ” that is , he was one of those Irishmen of English descent of whom it was ...
Page 16
... dear , Thy nephew , long to be deplored By Ulster's bands . Theirs were not souls wherein dull Time Could domicile decay or house Decrepitude ! They passed from earth ere manhood's prime , Ere years had power to dim their brows Or chill ...
... dear , Thy nephew , long to be deplored By Ulster's bands . Theirs were not souls wherein dull Time Could domicile decay or house Decrepitude ! They passed from earth ere manhood's prime , Ere years had power to dim their brows Or chill ...
Page 41
... dear Erythaea , Give not your passions vent , nor let blind fury Precipitate your thoughts , nor set ' em working , Till time shall lend ' em better means and instru- ments Than lost complaints . Where's pretty Fatima ? I prythee call ...
... dear Erythaea , Give not your passions vent , nor let blind fury Precipitate your thoughts , nor set ' em working , Till time shall lend ' em better means and instru- ments Than lost complaints . Where's pretty Fatima ? I prythee call ...
Page 47
... dear to the eyes that fair primrose may be , But dearer and sweeter is my Coolin to me . Then boy , rouse you up ! go and bring me my steed , Till I cross the green vale and the mountains with speed ; Let me hasten far forward , my lov ...
... dear to the eyes that fair primrose may be , But dearer and sweeter is my Coolin to me . Then boy , rouse you up ! go and bring me my steed , Till I cross the green vale and the mountains with speed ; Let me hasten far forward , my lov ...
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Common terms and phrases
Amergin ancient appeared beauty better born breast caliph called charms Clyster court cried daughter dear death Decius died Dublin Earl England English Enter Essex eyes fair fame father favour Finnachta fortune gentleman give hand happy hast hath hear heart heaven holy orders honour hope husband Ireland Irish Irish language king labour Lady land learned live London look Lord lover madam marriage married Maximian Milesian mind Miss nature never Niece night o'er Ogygia Oroo Oroonoko Orson passion person pleasure poem poet poor praise Pray prince queen reason Sackbut servant soon soul speak sure SUSANNA CENTLIVRE sweet Swift Tatler tell thee things thou thought tion took translated Trinity College Tristram Shandy uncle Toby virtue wife word write wrote Yorick young youth
Popular passages
Page 270 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs— and God has given my share — I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose. I still had hopes— for pride attends us still — Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell, of all I felt, and all I saw...
Page 310 - I knew a man in Christ above fourteen years ago, (whether in the body, I cannot tell ; or whether out of the body, I cannot tell : God knoweth ;) such an one caught up to the third heaven.
Page 272 - Where the dark scorpion gathers death around ; Where at each step the stranger fears to wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey. And savage men more murderous still than they; While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies.
Page 273 - Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small, He sees his little lot the lot of all ; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, To shame the meanness of his humble shed...
Page 257 - Withhold not good from them to whom it is due, When it is in the power of thine hand to do it. Say not unto thy neighbour, Go, and come again, And to-morrow I will give; When thou hast it by thee.
Page 269 - Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen. And Desolation saddens all thy green : One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain ; No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way ; Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest...
Page 238 - He shall not drop." said my uncle Toby, firmly. "A-well-o'day, do what we can for him, said Trim, maintaining his point,; "the poor soul will die." "He shall not die, by G— !" cried my uncle Toby. The Accusing Spirit, which flew up to heaven's chancery with the oath, blushed as he gave it in, and the Recording Angel, as he wrote it down, dropped a tear upon the word, and blotted it out for ever.
Page 269 - Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please...
Page 272 - And pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel and robes of country brown. Do thine, sweet AUBURN, thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain...
Page 270 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place.